Voiceless
by harvingtoniii
Summary: Frozen Punk AU: Elsa is getting ready for the gig that will break her and her band into the punk scene in NY, when suddenly a redheaded roadie named Anna stumbles into her life. An encounter that will shape the course of the night and the rest of her life. (Elsanna/Non-Incest)
1. Chapter 1: Opening night

"Here we fucking go!" the singer screamed and _The Fiction_ roared into life. Elsa stood stage right watching the limp crowd, the majority of the venue were congregated at the bar waiting for the main act to arrive. the pit was a mashup of naive friends and first time gig participants trying to establish whether to move or retain their dignity. She vaguely remembered her first gig as a high schooler, stood outside some guy's garage with no confidence in the fact that this was exactly what she was looking for. A sound, a voice, a culture; a culture without requirement or repercussion.

Her nostalgia was interrupted by a jab in the ribs from behind her causing her to tense. She loaded the words on her lips before she turned with the venomous "Fuck you" tumbling from her mouth. A well built man wearing a sleeveless shirt stood before her, the blonde mop on his head shook a little; revealing deep brown eyes that were not even in the slightest bit hurt by the response.

"Kristoff," the blonde sighed.

"Elsa," the large man chuckled, slackening a little now he was sure she wasn't…

_Smack_. The hand caught him across the chin sending his gaze to the stage door. He slowly turned back to her, massaging the offended skin. To which the offender smiled sweetly before turning back to _The Fiction_; just closing their first song. She clapped politely.

Kristoff looked at the young men desperately trying to woo the audience, before turning to the trail of plaited of blonde in front of him. "Firstly, ouch." exacerbating the rubbing motion for a second, "Secondly, what's so interesting about the small fry?" gesturing toward the stage.

Elsa didn't turn; "They remind me how we were." She was looking at the singer; so desperately trying to bring his best 'rockstar' persona to a crowd that probably knew him as 'Dave' or 'Harry'. He must have felt the blue eyes boring into him as he caught a glance of the side of stage, gave her an unsure smile and continued to yell into the microphone.

"No amount of passion can save him now," Kristoff smirked as he turned to the rack of guitars at the side of stage and began tweaking the ones they'd need for tonight. Elsa turned from the raucous noise and swatted Kristoff out of the way as she picked up a small acoustic guitar and headed for a seat on the sofa. At least she _would _have had the sofa not been occupied by a flight-case and what seemed to be an unconscious person. Getting closer to the sofa, the person became scrawny girl with flashes of red hair creeping from underneath a '_Southern Eyes_' hat. "Shit" Elsa breathed. "Shit" she repeated a little louder and with more intensity, so that Kristoff could catch the seriousness of this 'shit'. He sidled up to her and whispered,

"Shit."

Thoughts immediately raced through Elsa's mind as they stared at the lifeless body in front of them, but only one made any sort of sense.

"We have an OD'ing groupie," she said flatly.

"Not just an OD'ing groupie," added Kristoff "but the headline acts' OD'ing groupie."

They both stared at each other, both stuck for what to do. If they move the groupie, it's not their problem, but they have blood on their hands. If they get help for the groupie, the police will probably get a warrant, a list of attendees, piss everyone off and both Elsa and Kristoff would never get a gig with any respectable band ever again.

"Move her?" Elsa ventured.

"I am not getting my fingerprints involved in a drug case," Kristoff retorted whilst checking around to make sure they were alone. They were. They probably had thirty minutes before _The Fiction_ got off stage and probably ten before someone noticed a missing girl.

"Well we can't leave her here to OD Kristoff!" Elsa was getting stressed now, this is not what she needs prior to a performance. She didn't work well under stress.

"Gah, fuck it," He responded by moving forward and gently shaking the girl. "Hell-o?"

Nothing.

Elsa moved in closer to the sofa and put the guitar down on the floor to help Kristoff, causing the sharp noise of a thick _thud_ of wood on wood. The girl's eyes flashed open.

The girl sprang to life, sending Kristoff reeling away from the sofa as the scrawny redhead stared wide-eyed at the both of them. The blue eyes shot between the two musicians, they seemed to be screaming "What just happened?"

Elsa and Kristoff looked at each other: "Shit," she said, "Shit," he said.

"Fuckernuggets," the mess of red said quickly turning to the flight-case and fiddling with the latches.

What Elsa had meant to say in that moment was "Holy shit, what the fuck is that thing in front of me?" However "Shit" had to suffice this time around.

What the mess of red had meant to say in that moment was "Holy shit, what the fuck is that thing in front of me?" However "Fuckernuggets," was good enough for her.

Kristoff had said what he meant to say as there is little else he could say having been numbed by yet another slap to face.

**A/N: Really enjoyed making this, this is my first fanfic EVER making it a bold step into the unknown. If you would like to see more or see it return in a more refined way then please review constructively. **

**Much love**

**Harvington III **


	2. Chapter 2: The Redhead Roadie

"Don't look Anna, don't look," the redhead thought; her internal monologue running through a list of potential excuses.

"Don't look huh?" Kristoff mused gradually lifting himself up from floor to survey his accidental assailant.

Her internal monologue was not as internal as she hoped.

"Fucknuggets," she cursed, unclasping the side of the case and watching in horror as a guitar tumbled out of the case and onto the floor with a cringeworthy thud.

"Double fucknuggets"

Elsa was still standing there in her 'Holy fuck' state. What was this force of nature that she simultaneously adored and abhorred? How could anything so clumsy be so sweet? She went to help but was stopped by the ocean blue of her eyes, her hair; _God her hair!_, thick red with hues of orange tinging the sides. Look at her sweet little mouth; lips like...words failed her. Elsa could see the mouth moving but all she could hear was her heart thumping away in her chest at 170 miles an hour.

'_Snap OUT of it Elsa_'

All the while Anna was trying her best to focus on the fallen instrument and get out of there. She'd really fucked it up this time; there was no way that the band wouldn't notice a dent on the body of the instrument, Hans was gonna be pissed. The woman above her moved to help. "_Fuck off,_" she thought; determined not to let them see her in such a state. She turned to dissuade the assistance and looked up at the figure: the sapphire eyes blazed in the setting of white and blonde, her skin was so pale she could've sworn that it was translucent; refracting light into an aurora of colour and beauty. Instinct kicked in and her lips started moving, she wasn't sure what she said but the blonde seemed to stop.

"_What did I say_?" Anna thought. "_What did she say?"_ Elsa thought.

The two just stared at each other, waiting for someone or something to break the frozen stares and save them both from losing themselves.

Luckily the large blonde man was reaching for the nearest guitar in a half-hearted attempt to help, cutting between the two.

"You're lucky Hannah," he said to the small redhead whilst inspecting the guitar. "A 1962 Fender Telecaster with, Porter H1N9 pickups, three way pickup selector, master tone and volume and a nasty scratch on the back."

"Shit," she replied. _A scratch_. "I am so fucked right now." slumping on her knees.

"No you're not, it's a relic job; too precise to be an accident, this was deliberately done by a pro, you barely damaged it at all." he handed the instrument back to her.

"It's Anna, by the way," she responded, taking the beaten up guitar from him and placing onto the guitar stand with care.

"I'm sorry for freaking you out," she said, gesticulating towards the flight-case. "Those things are heavy and I needed a nap so…"

"You were napping?" Kristoff interrupted, sounding somewhere between amused and amazed.

"Erm, yeah," looking somewhat bashful. "Me and naps are like peanut butter and jelly."

Kristoff was going to embark on his next line of questioning when they were interrupted by the stage door opening; sending a cold breeze flying through the backstage area and a hulk of a man carrying a guitar-shaped case walked in.

"Sven!" the blonde man exclaimed, walking over to greet him. The man named Sven took one look at the girl over Kristoff's shoulder and nodded; nothing else, just nodded.

Kristoff continued talking to his friend, "This is Hannah,"

"Anna." she interrupted.

"Sorry. This is," he stopped and emphasised "ANN-A," before continuing, "me and Elsa thought."

There was no interruption this time, but something far more significant wrong. Elsa wasn't in the room any more and the stage door was closed again.

"Shit" Kristoff said.

**A/N: Thanks so much to the people who have followed this and given me some encouragement. I will continue to update as long as you guys enjoy it. **

**Much love**

**Harvington III**


	3. Chapter 3: The Southern Eye

Elsa sped down the corridor to find the _Southern Eyes_. She had to get that roadie out of her way, she could not perform in this state. _What had she done to her_? Elsa had never felt that way about anyone before; let alone a girl and a complete dork of a girl at that.

Those eyes though…

She glazed over, recalling the depth of those eyes: eyes you could get lost in and not give a damn about the world falling apart around you, or the guy walking out of a dressing room right in front of you.

_Crash. _As the two reeled backwards trying to make sense of what the heck just happened.

She recovered control and looked toward the slick-haired punk standing in front of her.

"_Fuck, Hans."_ Elsa thought. Realising the depth of her misstep she sped to apologise, "Jeez, i'm sorry Hans."

The punk smiled. His auburn hair was slicked back in classic mod style reinforced by leather jacket and torn black jeans leading to a pair of beaten up black converse's.

"Elsa of _Arendhelle,_ to what do I owe the pleasure?" he said neglecting the fact that she was still a little shaken by his sudden appearence.

"Hans of the _Southern Eyes_," she responded. "When are you guys on?" she was stalling to find a nice way of saying "_Your roadie is too fucking much for me right now."_

"Oh we get on in about forty-five," pulling his phone out to check...

_Nothing. _

"...maybe closer to fifty. Shouldn't you be headed the other way?" he concluded placing the smooth device back in his pocket.

_Back to stage. _"I can't go back there right now, your roadie is unloading your stuff."

_It was true but unloading was a bit of an overstatement of the girl's behaviour._

Looking back at Hans she saw a little bit of colour drain from his face. He mumbled "Was it a girl with red-hair?" In response Elsa nodded.

"Oh fuck," he stopped_, _"on her own?"

Elsa nodded again, somehow she was getting the impression that this roadie was not cut out for roadie-ing. Maybe it was the way the Hans now looked desperately worried or the fact that he had started walking towards the stage door with growing intensity.

"I told Olaf not to leave Anna on her own," he fumed.

"What could she have done?" She was setting the girl named Anna up for firing and she knew it. She imagined the deep blue turning misty with tears. _Fuck_.

She didn't have time to repeal her testimony before they ran into a gaggle of sweaty performers. _The Fiction_ had finished their set, the lead singer raised a hand with five extended fingers as he walked past.. "_Five minutes"_ Elsa thought. _Not long enough to defend Anna and get on stage. _

They finally reached the stage door and Hans burst through, followed by Elsa who half expected the girl named Anna to be in a state of complete disrepair.

What she didn't expect was to see her on laughing with Kristoff with a perfectly set up line of guitars and basses smirking from the shadows. "_Kristoff,"_ she thought as the two conspirators turned from each other to stare at the imposing punk.

Hans scanned the space for signs of damage: fire, missing ceiling tiles, splinters of wood; anything that Anna was capable of alone for thirty minutes. _Nothing_.

Anna stifled a giggle which earnt a smile from Elsa. _How was she so fucking adorable? I wanted to get away from her five minutes ago and now all I want to do is…_

She stopped that train of thought dead. _Just get on stage. _

She could see that Hans noticed the line of instruments as he broke into a cool smile. "Good job Anna," with more than a little relief showing in his tone as he went to inspect his instruments.

The redhead lost the tension that had been holding her straight and slouched with a long breath that showed her relief that she'd done a 'good job'.

_Thank fuck, _she thought; taking her eyes off the boss and letting them fall onto Elsa: who walked straight over to Kristoff, picked up a guitar and motioned to the stage. She took one look over the sofa where Sven was sitting and gestured to the stage. Without a word to either of them she stepped on stage to the sound of applause and cat-calls. Kristoff followed suit, as did Sven leaving her and Hans.

Elsa knew she had to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible. She didn't care that she'd walk out to cat-calls and hecklers, anything was better than being anywhere near _those _eyes. She turned around to the amplifier and flipped it out of 'standby' as a tall silent bassist slid behind her and a man with messy blonde hair sat behind a drumkit. She turned to face the crowd. It had definitely grown over the course of the evening. A chant began from the depths of that mass of bodies "_Arendhelle_! _Arendhelle_! _Arendhelle_!". She dropped her hand down from above her head to prompt a end to the chant.

There was a stillness. On stage and off. A girl standing with a beat up guitar, stepped up to the microphone.

"_Deep breath Elsa"_.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR" and the room leapt into life.

Three or four meters to the right of Elsa stood a head of flaming hair underneath a _Southern Eyes _hat named Anna. As the girl named Anna watched Elsa sing, she knew. She knew that after tonight, she was going to see her again; regardless of who she had to piss off.

Three or four meters to the left of Anna stood a shrieking, platinum blonde woman: dressed in combat boots, skinny jeans and the sweat of a room full of jumping, moshing and screaming people. As she tore away from the microphone to lead the band into the next section she caught a glimpse of _those eyes_ beckoning her; inviting her. In that moment she knew. She knew that this girl was going to be the poison and the antidote, the victim and the perpetrator, the dream and the nightmare."

She knew she was going to _love_ every second of it.

**A/N: Thanks to all the guys who have followed me so far; you are ALL amazing! NGL feeling very honoured by the fact that you like my writing enough to follow; on my first FF no less.  
**

**So please continue review constructively: I am very open to correction and guidance and if anyone would like to _beta_ future chapters feel free to PM me. **

**Much Love  
Harvington III**


	4. Chapter 4: The Comedown

Elsa stepped off stage drenched in sweat; half of it not even hers but she didn't care. They had _rocked _it. She stared around the room of milling people: groupies, band members and managers, looking for a flash of red, a pair of ripped jeans; Anything.

Nothing.

As she continued to check room she was succeeded by Kristoff; who in usual fashion was going over a mental highlight reel in his head, resulting in him looking like something between a child and lunatic.

"Not gonna lie guys," Kristoff began as he stretched out his body from its 40 minute rhythmic workout. "We dominated. Right Sven?" To which the bassist nodded, before heading to the crowded guitar rack to replace his instrument.

Elsa still couldn't see the girl. _Was she moving stuff outside?_ She began to push towards the stage door before she was stopped by Hans; the slick punk cutting his hand in front of her.

"Great show guys, you got them warmed up nicely for us." he smiled, bearing pearly teeth not typical of the image that he portrayed with the punk rock exterior. He gazed out towards the stage with a twinge of something uncertain breaking the stillness of his smile. Elsa noticed.

"Not nervous are you?" She smirked as the 'impenetrable' facade was broken for a second.

"No reason not to be nervous," he replied quickly regaining his composure. "Headlining is always a little bit pressured, the guys want the best." He gestured towards the rest of the _Southern Eyes_ who were congregated around the moth-eaten sofa talking, joking and smoking. Hans sighed a little. "Sometimes I'd appreciate not being the fall guy for the rest of the guys," he brought his voice down an octave and into a mocking tone. "_Gee brother, great playing tonight." _

Elsa pitied him slightly, having twelve brothers in the music industry in various capacities it made sense for him to be musical. Talent that was obviously overshadowed and diminished by his brothers in the _Southern Eyes_ making it scarier going it alone. Then again having twelve brothers in the music industry means connections, which means deals, which means money. If there was anything that Hans didn't lack it was the ability to get 'impossible' bookings or to get an album released under a big label in less than a week. They had all the help they needed to make a band successful, which would make every musician happy.

They had strong presence on the punk scene on a national level; a good gig could open opportunity for a tour. However the _Southern Eyes _did come with baggage; they could be really harsh when it came to the cut. The _Southern Eyes _run the gig: you use their stage, their fans, their name; which means their rules. Elsa knew that meant they were getting fuck all from tonight, but after a show like that; _Arendhelle _had a few more fans for sure.

Hans was saying something. _Oh fuck, not again_.

"Sorry I didn't catch that," she apologised. _Why is she even talking to Hans? I had something to do..._

"No worries," he said. "I hope Anna wasn't too difficult earlier."

_Anna. Red haired Goddess. 'Fucknugget'ing Anna._

"That bad?" Hans smirked, unaware of the night's events.

"Oh," Elsa jumped back into consciousness, he was asking about Anna.

"No!" she yelped, causing Hans to recoil slightly.

_Is 'Annaism'contagious? _Elsa thought, she was being awkward with the guy who had the power to make or break her band.

"She was great," Elsa winced, fighting through the awkwardness to try and win back a slice of her dignity. _She was great? Really Elsa? _

Hans obviously sensed the insincerity. "On her first time?"

"Well you know," she replied. "Always room for growth in that area." She needed to escape the conversation. It wasn't going to go well when the subject was this lackadaisically adorable creature that had so swiftly stolen all logical and reasoned thought with so little as five minutes with her.

"I've gotta put this down," gesturing to the guitar that was dangling from its strap and turning towards the guitar rack, leaving Hans standing somewhat dejected by her sudden abandonment.

She replaced the beaten up block of wood on the rack, eyeing a few of the perfectly manicured machines: a red relic that looked as if it had been dragged behind a car, a shining black Fender guitar covered in stickers and paint and a _Southern Eye_ Gibson bearing the _Southern Eyes _logo; an eyeball with a downward pointing arrow in place of a pupil. Her gaze was interrupted by a hand gripping the neck of the guitar; a hand belonging to a dark haired man in leather jacket, with shaved head and fierce eyes.

"Elsa," the man nodded, retrieving the instrument from its peers. Before making his way to the stage. Anders; lead singer and the 'face' of the _Southern Eyes._

"Good luck," she muttered. Turning back to the quickly emptying room, one last look for the redheaded enigma. No luck. She retrieved her bag from behind the rack took a step towards the stage door when a small voice crept up behind her.

"Hi."

_How does a voice inspire so much in a single word?_

Elsa turned to the girl. The hat had disappeared and Elsa got her first proper look at Anna: She looked twenty-ish; maybe younger, she wore stonewashed jeans that hugged a slim figure, a loose t-shirt. _Not a boyfriend's shirt?_ Elsa hoped to God not. She had tattoos on both arms: on her left; a vine stemming from her veins forming a knotted treble clef beforesnaking up into her shirt. On her right she bore a heart; a cartoonish heart with lettering stemming from it. _Heart on her sleeve; cute._

"Heart on my sleeve," she chuckled; letting a smile grace her complexion which highlighted the freckles that danced on her cheeks. Above those cheeks laid those deep eyes; twinkling and inviting to Elsa.

"Great show," she continued. "I mean it wasn't just great, it was really greater. I mean it was really great..."

Elsa didn't have the cognitive power to correct her, she was still drinking in Anna in her fullest: _Hair; red, eyes; blue, smile; perfect... _

"...how you keep jumping like that I have no idea…"

She didn't want to stop her.

"...so what's your name?"

_Shit. _

**A/N: We're finally there, we have Anna and Elsa on 'speaking' terms. Thanks for sticking with me, I hope you're still enjoying it! For my first FF I did NOT expect followship, let alone people 'favoriting' and reviewing. I appreciate the encouragement as I spend a lot of time getting these stories absolutely right. **

**Once again thanks and see you next time! **

**Much love  
Harvington III **


	5. Chapter 5: Drinking in the Atmosphere

**A/N: Thanks for all the support. Sorry this took a little longer, just balancing work/writing ratio at the moment.**

"...so what's your name?"

_Shit. _

Elsa froze. Her mind felt like it was running through a mental library trying to find a missing book; running with a ten ton redheaded block of steel chained to her consciousness.

"Elsa?" she responded, caught between a question and a statement.

"For someone who was yelling to a room of a hundred guys," Anna chuckled. "You sure get self-conscious on your own, Elsa."

Elsa had no comeback from this, all that occupied her focus was the freckles, the hair, the _eyes_. She made a noise, hoping it'd form something that resembled words at some point.

"_Fuck this; I'll just say it". _She forced clarity in her head and brought a string of words together.

"Do you want a drink?" was forced out of her mouth.

The tension split with a deafening crack.

"Yeah sure."

The two girls made their way to the bar which stood at the back of the club. The club was designed so that those sitting at the bar could get a decent view of the stage whilst the more adventurous and dedicated could brave the "dancefloor".

Elsa was careful not to make eye contact before the first drink had set in.

"What do want to drink?" Elsa asked, motioning to the bartender.

"Uhhh, water?" she said, straight-faced and sincere.

Elsa stopped. _Is she fucking serious?_ Her face fell. _Did I get the only straight roadie in the business? _

"Are you serious?" she probed.

The straight face twitched, loosing a brief smirk: that became a smile; that became a chuckle, that became a laugh and finally hysterics. Elsa breathed a mix of frustration and relief. She was at least a _little _more normal.

"Vodka and coke," just about composing herself before looking over to Elsa.

"Two of of those please," she relayed to the bartender. "Oh and shots for me."

"And me!" her barmate edged in, prompting a look of surprise from Elsa and the barman.

"Yeah sure," Elsa knew the game she was playing: don't look weak, conceal don't feel; don't let it show. She had played that one for years.

Years of high school torment, being left to embrace her ascribed status as an introvert and a loner. Years of trying to find acceptance with whoever would have her: the nerds, the gamers, the band geeks and even a short stint in cheer that had brought her even more misery than acceptance. Then along came the radio. A single song, a song that hit a chord in a heart that was abused and broken.

"_I hate this place, but I love these chords. An empty fate just means an even score. The pain this morning; fills my head, it's Jameson and it means that I'm not dead."_

She had that statement tattooed on her back by the next weekend. The first of many tattoos that she had accumulated over the years since she was sixteen. She now stood at twenty-one with full sleeves; a menagerie of wonderful textures and pictures, ribs that were decorated with dynastic illustrations and a thigh that flowed into the former; creating a sense of unity across her body. She'd finally found a place, she'd found a voice: it was loud, it was brash and it was everything that she needed.

At this point the drinks arrived, prompting an attempt at subtle confidence from Anna; which without the sharp intake of breath would've been convincing. She was out of her depth and Elsa knew it. She was so _adorable_; trying to be a big girl and outdrink Elsa.

"Here's one," Elsa smirked, raising the shot glass to the redhead who quietly took her glass too.

"Three," Elsa initiated, seeing Anna psyche herself up for the charge. "Two," the girl shifted in her seat. "One."

Both girls threw their heads back as the searing liquid made it's way down their throats. Elsa winced, "_It's been a while" _she mused to herself. Whereas Anna reached for a second one, causing Elsa some surprise.

"Oh," she said; slightly taken off-guard by the girl's eager response. Anna noticed.

"You're fucking kidding me right?" she laughed, "You're the one who ordered the shots."

"_I'm obviously not the one calling them right now though am I?" _Elsa thought_._

"Three-two-one." Elsa responded, throwing yet another round of viscous liquid down and slamming the glass down onto the bar. She could definitely feel it now, this wasn't gonna end well for her. She glanced at the plastic tray: four more shots and two vodka and cokes. She glanced back at her companion, gearing up for another; though visibly shaken.

_Had she made a mistake here? Was she gonna drink this girl to death?_

"Are you okay?" She asked, extending a hand towards the girl. It came to rest on her thigh, causing the girl to look up at Elsa. _Those eyes_. Elsa once again dislocated every distraction to focus on Anna's response; but there was no response. Her lips weren't moving, her face didn't twitch or turn. She was just staring, staring back into the eyes of Elsa: cutting through all the pretense of 'singer', all the bravado of 'punk' and making her sixteen again. Sixteen and listening to The Gaslight Anthem in her room with the lights out, not crying or mourning but dreaming; dreaming of life at 45rpm instead of living 100kmh. Right now, Elsa felt like she could write a thousand songs in this moment, every one of them would not suffice to describe it.

Elsa leaned forward and pressed her lips against Anna's. Her mind went blank, the world slowed down and for the first time since she wrote her first song on a beat up acoustic guitar about a beat up broken heart, she felt like she had something to hold on to.

Anna broke away first.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this. Thanks for the drink." She turned off the stool and walked back towards the stage door.

Elsa sat there.

_Fucknuggets. _

**A/N: We survived the first gig! This is where things get interesting. **

**Once again thanks for all the support! If you have enjoyed it, let me know by reviewing. **

**Much love**

**Harvington III **


	6. Chapter 6: The Chase

_Damn._

In that moment, she was quite literally the best thing that had happened to her. The sound of _The Southern Eyes _faded to monotony as she pieced together what mind she had left.

_Fuck this_.

She stood to her feet and began after the girl. Making her way to the stage door and away from the fallout of the disastrous drinking games, she bit back a gasp as she remembered the quiet confidence that she took that second drink with; the subtle smile and the wonderful seconds that followed.

_Fuck this. _She repeated, in a mantra. She was not going to let her go without an explanation, she still had a gig to roadie for and there was _no_ running to be done.

She pushed through the door and looked down both sides of the corridor. _Nothing_. She started towards the wings of the stage. There was no way she was leaving a job half-done. Then again, this was Anna the world's most wonderfully incompetent roadie.

She swung into the side of stage and saw Kristoff and Sven standing by the guitar rack watching _The Southern Eyes_.

"No, that was totally a 'Barker fill' i'm telling you!" Kristoff protested, Sven just shook his head and continued to put up with Kristoff's rant.

"I mean these guys should be called '_The Southern Plagiarise' _I haven't heard anything original all night!"

"Kristoff, shut the fuck up!" Elsa interjected, throwing the bulky blonde off-guard.

"What got into you?" he shot back, blatantly hurt.

"Have you seen An-," she stopped. "-the roadie?"

Kristoff smiled, "_She _got under your skin huh?" Elsa looked obviously uncomfortable; _did he know?_

"Have you seen her?" She continued unabated.

"No, last I saw of her was a certain blonde getting familiar with her at the bar."

_Fuck! _Elsa knew that she wasn't going to hear the end of this for some time.

"Fuck off Kristoff," she concluded; turning back to the door as Kristoff roared with laughter at Elsa's obvious guilt and frustration.

She left the wings and went to main corridor to check the dressing rooms: _The Fiction, Arendhelle, The Southern Eyes._ She knocked on the door of _The Fiction_; a raucous of moving furniture and raised voices. A black haired man greeted her at the door: he was wearing a fresh tank-top with beaten up jeans; though it failed to mask the scent of sweat that swam out of the box-like room.

"Hey," he began. "Arendhelle, right?" Leaning against the doorpost he forced a smile.

That smile was that of someone who thought he was God's gift to the opposite sex and that all his Christmases had come at once. Elsa hated people like this.

"Have you seen a redhead come through at all?" She completely cut the conversation starters and got straight to her request. He was slightly taken aback.

"It's James by the way," his smile vanishing as quickly as it had been forced on-stage. "I saw her like," he paused for thought. "Thirty minutes ago." _I was on stage. _"Went in next door." _That's our room._

"Thanks James," she left with renewed fervour and fear. _What was she doing in my dressing room._ "Nice to meet you too _Arendhelle!" _he called after her.

Elsa took a deep breath and entered the room to find a blaze of copper hair crouched over Elsa's stuff. The redhead turned around, hands raised in surprise surrender; holding a scarred iPhone in her left hand. _Elsa's phone_.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" Elsa yelled, causing the redhead to flinch; her hands curling around the phone resuscitating the darkened screen revealing the goal of her journey. _Contacts page: Anna Aren, a phone number, a thumb hovering above 'delete number'_.

Elsa froze, she managed one word.

"Don't."

The thumb hovered, then slipped back behind the phone. _She stood a chance._

"Why did you leave?" Elsa began.

Anna stood still, the thumb remained tucked behind the phone and her eyes remained focussed on the floor as she spoke.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Elsa detected a little blush in her cheeks as her mind called back to that moment.

"Because it seemed so right." She responded, careful not to startle this faun-like girl.

"Because it stroked your ego?" Anna came back with, her thumb twitching.

"Does it look like I have an ego to stroke?" she responded. "If you were a cheap high I wouldn't have chased you back here would I?"

The thumb settled, the hand fell from above her head. Elsa sighed as Anna threw the phone to the nearest chair.

It didn't bother Elsa that the phone had fallen somewhere a foot or so away from the chair. It didn't bother Anna that Elsa took a step closer to her and put her hand in hers. It didn't bother Elsa that Anna had left her at the bar. It didn't bother Elsa that Anna thought that she was using her for an ego boost. All that mattered in that moment was that as Anna looked up into the eyes of blue; as Elsa stared into hers, that this was perfect. Even as their eyes closed as their lips touched, they had never felt more awake and alive. Elsa broke away first.

"Does this mean I can call you?" Elsa whispered.

Anna giggled, "Not on that phone" gesturing towards the phone that now laid face-first on the floor. Elsa smiled, it was the sweetest and most authentic smile she'd felt for a while. She savoured it a moment more.

"But yeah, you can call me," Anna replied. The two held their gaze a little longer before the sound of raucous applause filtered down the corridor. _The Southern Eyes _had finished and the sound of laughter grew clearer as the band drew closer.

"Well," Anna cut through, slipping her hands from Elsa's. "I've got a stage to disassemble and a boss to keep happy."

Anna walked towards the door, cutting past Elsa and poking her head round the corner.

"I got time," she said in a hushed voice. She swiftly snuck up to Elsa and planted a kiss on her cheek, turning out into the corridor as _The Southern Eyes _rounded a corner.

Elsa stood there.

_Damn. _

**A/N: New chapter incoming this weekend, hopefully this fulfilled a little bit of the fluff quota and stopped the 'smarting'. **

**Thanks to all the guys who've reviewed and given me great feedback; it's much appreciated on my first FF!  
I can only hope that you'll continue to support the fic going forward, I give you permission to stop me if it's going in a dangerously boring/risky direction.**

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	7. Chapter 7: The Partly-After-Party

Elsa dumped the guitar hard-case on the back seat of the car and looked back at a wheezing Kristoff; carrying her amplifier from the stage door to the dark blue hatchback. He leant back and gasped as he deposited the weighty device in the car.

"Fuck" he groaned, looking back. "Why the fuck did you have to park so far away?"

"It was the only spot I could get," she smirked, amused by his futility. "Besides, it's not that far."

"It's far when you've been running gear in, drumming, arm-wrestling, drinking and then have to run gear out again," he complained. This was all true, but it wasn't enough of an excuse to allow him to worm out of helping Elsa.

"If _The Southern Eyes _didn't park themselves in front of the rear entrance we wouldn't have this problem."

"_The Southern Eyes_?" Elsa replied. _Annamight still be free?_

"Yeah, those guys." He turned back to the club, "Anyway, I have a bet that I can beat the bouncer in an arm-wrestle." He started walking back, occasionally stumbling as the alcohol intermittently diminished his motor skills; and so it seemed _his judgement_ too.

Elsa pulled her phone out of her pocket and smoothed the surface to unlock it. She cycled through the contacts at the top of the list: _Donnie Anderson,Jerry Andrews, Anna Aren. _She tapped the name and the details appeared, quickly typing a quick message to the girl.

'_Hey :-) It's Elsa. You still here?' _Making a swift tap, she sent it and awaited a response.

It reminded herself of those first awkward encounters with boys back at high school. It would always begin with a rumour; a friend of a friend had a cousin who said that his friend told him that Matty James from math class was well into her. Then there'd be the notes passed in class, another rumour and eventually a note from Matty; delivered through his best friend to guarantee authenticity.

The phone shook warmly in her hand.

'_Still here, last case and I gotta get paid \m/ Wanna grab a coffee :D' _

Elsa flipped the time into view on her phone; _23:16_ it read_._

'_Yeah, I got time. Meet me by my car?'_ She replied, swiftly firing the proposition back. As quickly as it had left, a response came.

'_Nah, come meet me and walk me home. Rear door, white van ;)' _

Elsa turned back to the club, walking straight past the garish facade and towards the side entrance. She walked down the cold alley towards the glaring floodlit loading area. She saw two vans that the roadies were loading gear into and a familiar face caught her eye and walked over.

"You enjoy the night Elsa?" Hans questioned.

"Yeah, you guys have got this thing down to an art," she responded; putting Kristoff's disapproval to the back of her mind.

"Meh," Hans shrugged. "It was a bit sloppy tonight, seems like most of them had a good time."

"Most?" Elsa ventured, unsure whether this was humility or an ego that watched every person in the room.

"Yeah," he let his head drop a little. "I don't think I can do this for much longer."

Elsa knew that he alluded to being unhappy with _The Southern Eyes_ but never took it so seriously.

"Like music? Or with _those guys_?" she probed, careful not to step on family bonds.

"I just don't feel free on that stage, I know that i'm meant to be because it's punk. It's supposed to be _my_ voice-"

"But it's not," Elsa cut in, prompting a solemn nod from Hans. "You know, you could always come and jam with us at some point." The offer from the blonde caught her off guard. _The fuck Elsa? _she questioned in her head, _don't fuck with The Southern Eyes on a good day; let alone steal their guitarist._

Hans looked up. "I might just take you up on that," a weak smile returned to his face.

_Fuck._

Elsa's train of thought was cut off by a throbbing in her pocket. _Anna._

'_You haven't forgotten about me have you :'(' _

"I gotta go Hans," Elsa moved past him; turning as she walked towards one of the white vans. "We'll talk some other time." She kept cursing under her breath, "_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck". _She knew that there was no need for that offer: if Hans leaves his family band for _Arendhelle _then that'll write off any connection to labels and gigs run by his family. She needed Anna: she needed that wonderful mess of red tainting blonde, the taste of her, the smell of her. She just needed to find her.

She looked the vans over, there were no distinguishable differences. The only thing of note was the branding on the sides; 'Olaf's Van-power Services' in obtusely overbearing writing. She slid round the right side of the vans, looking out for someone who could tell her that she wasn't supposed to be there. No one. She turned the corner and began to walk to the rear door when someone grabbed her hand and pulled her between the two vans.

All Elsa had time to register was a mess of red hair and deep blue eyes before being pulled into a deep kiss. The heart that had jumped into her throat from surprise now settled back into her chest but kept hammering against her flesh. She could feel her mind slipping into nothingness and her thoughts clouding. _Keep it together Elsa, she repeated; fighting for clarity._ Anna's hands slid down from Elsa's face to her sides; stroking the contour of her body. Elsa could feel herself melting as every touch explored parts of her in a way that was different to every teenage fumble and grasp. In the same way, every second longer strangled every sentence that she was desperately trying to form to escape the embrace. Fortunately for Elsa, Anna pulled away.

"Hey," the redhead whispered bashfully. She turned her eyes to the floor with a very 'Annaish' embarrassment, all the confidence of the moment had passed leaving her wonderfully vulnerable; and Elsa utterly smitten.

'_Words Elsa, use your words.'_ Elsa battled the haze that had completely obscured her mind. She could feel it clearing, everything was transparent again; everything except what she would say next. Eventually it came.

"Hi," she paused, visibly struggling with words.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah," the redhead called Anna replied.

**A/N: I hope you're all enjoying the fic so far! So privileged to be welcomed into the community by some amazing people; NGL I was bit nervous upon posting the first chapter and I remain nervous on the seventh. **

**So if you are enjoying and would like to see more; or would like to talk about the story, please review. It means I get to meet more awesome people in the community and makes the story better! **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	8. Chapter 8: Coffee in Manhattan

Coffee in Manhattan was one of two things: expensive, or shit. This was definitely the latter. The two girls sat at a table in the corner of the room; nice and inconspicuous though there really was no need.

"So it's Anna right?" The blonde initiating conversation in a bid to restore her dignity that had been so ruined by the woman sitting opposite her.

"Anna Aren," the woman responded, all the while fiddling with a napkin that she had pilfered from another table. "Do you have a name?" she twisted the question back.

"Elsa Winters" came the response, prompting raucous laughter from the redhead; and the attention of everyone in the shop. Anna composed herself, "Are you fucking serious?" No matter how often she swore it never lost it's bizarre quality coming from such an innocent frame.

"I didn't really have lot of choice in the matter," Elsa shot back, causing Anna to sober up and return to her napkin. '_Fuck, too harsh_' ran through her head, '_Fix it.'_

"So what's your story?" Elsa began, trying to grasp a glance from the dejected redhead who sighed and looked up.

"Well," she looked down at an imaginary watch, "How long have you got?" She looked back up at Elsa for validation of her routine. Elsa smiled and gestured for her to go on.

"Well my grandparents emigrated from Norway back in the nineteen-thirties under the name _Aredullen;_ which became _Aren_ and it kinda stuck around for last eighty years." She looked up into the ceiling searching for the next piece of the chronological puzzle to put into place. "My mom grew up in Maine and I lived there for most of my life and one day an opportunity presented itself and-" she threw her hands up in a little wave, "hello New York."

"That's it?" Elsa asked, bemused by the brevity and scarcity of detail that failed to explain 'Anna'. The girl shrugged, "Well there _are_ specifics, but I don't want to bore you with that. _Yet._" She paused before she fired a question to divert Elsa, "What about you, where do you come from?"

Elsa took a breath and went to speak but was stopped by the sudden absence of words: How was she meant to articulate her life in a few sentences. Anna was looking expectantly for a response.

"So I was born in Long Island, grew up there with my family. Found punk at sixteen and never looked back." She sat back in her seat. "If _you_ want to know more you have to tell me something about you," the ultimatum hanging in the air between them. _Make it a game she can't resist. _

Anna looked at the napkin, then at Elsa, the napkin, Elsa, napkin, Elsa.

"Why leave Long Island?" finally broke the silence. Elsa smiled, '_It's on,' _she thought.

"Simple: New York City is has one of the highest concentration per square inch of producers, musicians, artists and creatives in the world. There was no other option." _Her turn._ "Why did you leave Maine?"

The girl chuckled, half-humored and half-melancholic. "It was Maine."

She wasn't wrong, Maine isn't exactly capital for much in the world, but it still didn't explain her. She was going to need to give away another question.

"_Arendhelle_?" The one word question gave Elsa some room to set expectations.

"I've met Kristoff at a High School party, he was the only guy who was willing to break the ice with me and we discovered a mutual love of all things punk." She smirked, "He's a little more 'fuck the system' than I am. So we started a two-piece: guitars and drums, but it kinda sucked so we got Sven in. Quiet dude but a real musician, played the jazz circuit for years but a punk at heart."

Anna kept gazing expectantly at Elsa. _What was she missing? _

"Oh!" she exclaimed, drawing yet more attention to their corner. "_Arendhelle _is a 'punkified' translation of Kristoff's native town Arendelle. Kinda lame I guess." Anna started, "Not at all, not as lame as-" she paused. "_Laime."_

The sheer stupidity of the response prompted another laughing fit from the two girls. For a moment they forgot the game at hand and just drank in the other's presence. Eventually Elsa took the initiative.

"What are you doing in New York?" Anna's eyes centred back on Elsa.

"Having coffee with the most beautiful girl I have ever met." With that she leant across the table and planted a chaste kiss on the cheek of the astonished blonde who promptly blushed. Anna sat back and giggled, "Gee, I forgot how easily thrown you are by kisses."

Elsa regained clarity and threw the question again, "So you came all the way to New York to have coffee with me?"

Anna looked out the window at the humming streets. "No," came the response. "I wasn't planning on just the coffee."

Elsa flushed. _Was she implying what she thought she was implying?_ Her hands began to shake. _This is happening too fast, regain control. _

"Your turn," she posed the question with trepidation; running every possible question through her mind.

The girl smiled, "Do you want to build a romance?" With that the girl rose to her feet and started walking towards the door.

The question completely threw Elsa. Anna completely threw Elsa. _Everything_ seemed to throw Elsa at the moment.

The door shut unceremoniously, leaving Elsa sitting with two empty coffee cups and a ink covered napkin. She twisted the napkin towards her, it read; 'Thanks for coffee Elsa, I'm free on Sunday at 7pm if you want to hang out. Love Anna xxx'

Elsa's mind was only just getting around to process this when she arrived home at three in the morning, closing the door behind her and on the night's events. She placed the array of cases down by the door and carried her guitar to her bedroom. Lying on her bed she started to pen a little idea.

'_Do you wanna build a romance? Or simply fuck it all? _

_I know that love is overdue, but can we work it through? _

_It used to be the radio and now it's you. what am I going to do? _

_Do you wanna build a romance?' _

Two hours later on Saturday morning Elsa laid in bed, nestled against her guitar with an open notebook and a iphone filled to capacity with demos and drafts.

Elsa usually dreamt of the thousands of screaming fans, the epic choruses being sung back to her and _their_ voice being heard. But that night, Elsa dreamt of a girl with flaming red hair, dancing to a song that Elsa had written for her; the flow from heart to hand to her. There was no band; just Elsa and a guitar, there was no anxiety or expectation; only peace, and it was _her _voice.

**A/N: Moving forward, looking forward to where this is going; It's kind of a sadistic joy to know how where this is going before you guys. Expect ****_FUN_**** things ahead. Very much loving writing this FF with the Gaslight Anthem blaring on in the background. I highly recommend 8tracks for mixtape magic while enjoying this fic. **

**I apologise if the lack of schedule is throwing some people off but i'm just trying to find which is the best time for everyone. **

**Much Love  
Harvington III**


	9. Chapter 9: Songs, Studios and Snowmen

**A/N: EXTRA CHUNKY CHAPTER! With a treat in the A/N at the end. **

_Ugh, _this is the most accurate depiction of Elsa's mind the following morning. Her brain began cycling through the biological blizzard of last night: performed to a crowd of people; _adrenaline_, nerves were in play;_phenylethylamine, _met a girl; _serotonin_, had drinks with said girl; _oxytocinand alcohol_, went for coffee with girl afterwards; _norepinephrine and caffeine_. The list went on and on; drawing to one conclusion that was transmitted via neural pathways to the speech centres of Elsa's brain using her cognitive context and schema to articulate this situation.

"Fucking Nora…" Elsa moaned into her pillow, wishing that the world would take a break and let her have this one day 'aftermath-free'. She didn't want to get up, she wanted to go back to sleep; back to the dream; back to Anna. She reached for her phone on the side table to check the time but grasped nothing but a used tissue.

_Where was her phone?_

She pushed herself up from the mass of covers and rested up against the headboard in an effort to regain her bearings. Light was cutting through the blinds and illuminating the room. The flat was nothing special: it had a kitchen, bathroom and even a lounge area for entertaining guests; providing that they could fit in amongst the amount of guitars, amps and recording equipment she had in there. The walls of her bedroom were green and accented with cream, which created a very classic and timeless effect; when they weren't covered with posters, t-shirts and memorabilia. Above her the ceiling displayed a hundred or so band logos staring back at her: _Black Flag, Against Me!, The Bouncing Souls, Propagandhi _all set the bar for her. Behind her stood the band logo for _Arendhelle_; written in mix of broken type and runes to pay homage to the Norwegian roots whilst keeping it healthily punk rock.

One of her guitars was lying at the end of the bed, precariously close to the edge. Elsa reached to pull the guitar up to her, in doing so she revealed the location of her phone, buried beneath her guitar with her notebook. She placed the guitar on the floor; careful not to let it drop suddenly for fear of breaking the neck of the instrument. She developed attachments to all her instruments, they were extensions of her; often in overt ways like colour and shape. But the acoustic was special because it had been her first, the first songs came from the first melodies that all came from this instrument. It was arguably the worst sounding instrument in the universe but Elsa didn't care, it felt very punk in it's sentiment; "_I'm gonna make music because it's MY voice, I didn't get to choose how I sounded!" _the instrument seemed to say.

She finally reached her phone and checked the time. Eleven twenty-two. _She was fine for another half-hour_. Her session didn't start until twelve-thirty meaning she had thirty minutes to get ready, grab food and go! With this in mind she busied herself about in preparation for a day in the studio. She knew Kai wasn't going to be happy if she was late; or put in a mediocre performance.

She had known Kai as a producer on a record she loved, she knew if she could get on good terms with him there might be an opening in the world that she so desperately wanted to be a part of. Initially he'd dismissed her as a young egotistical wannabe who had more dreams than she had graft, but persistence paid off and two months later he gave her a shot in the studio; after doing a basic demo for her he picked her up as a regular backing vocal. The beauty of studio work is that the jazz listeners couldn't see the tattoos of a punk. With that in mind she opted for a long sleeved shirt and skinny jeans. She would grab breakfast on the way, besides pizza for breakfast did wacky stuff to vocal cords. She went into the lounge and picked up a guitar and swept through the flat to the front door and out onto the street.

She stumbled through the door of Two-Tens Studio at twelve fifteen, fifteen minutes early meant that she could do her warm ups and grab a glass of water to cleanse the New York stench from her mouth. Bagels had been a bad move. She began hiking up the stairs towards the main studio; black fabric mesh walls lined the steps and pale blue lights illuminated the path. Turning into the small upper room she saw a large gentleman. He bald but maintained his brown sideburns as a memento of the era he was raised in. There sitting at the mixing desk was Kai: mentor, friend and boss.

"Elsa, you're here," the older man started, wasting no time with pleasantries. "Get in and we'll get the headphones sorted out." He returned to the console as Elsa entered the soundproofed room and began swapping headphones and tapping microphones.

_He is definitely in boss mode today. _Elsa thought, and he was well within his rights. He'd built this studio up to be one of the best for young musicians and fresh meat: he was an ever present source of wisdom and encouragement with the sincerity to be able to stop an egomaniac from running away with his thoughts and ideas.

"Who do we have in today?" Elsa ventured, curious as to what had got Kai so nervous.

"We have a band called _Hammerhail_ in," he replied. Elsa knew the band; 'indie, atmospheric kinda vibe' she'd heard from someone. Not really big fish in New York yet. But Kai continued,

"Oh, and we have their record label in too."

_That's why he's so uptight._ "Who are they working with?" Elsa replied, curious as to who had picked up the small outfit.

"_Southern Island_ records." Kai responded nonchalantly.

_Well fuck._ Elsa thought, that's Hans' label; that's Hans' family. _Fuck!_ That explains why I heard of them. _Southern Island_ records had developed a reputation in New York; big wallet, big press, big corporate business, no interest in music; just margins. What were they doing with a band that had barely any recognition in Manhattan let alone America? Now she was getting the lion's share of nerves. Nerves that were consolidated by the slamming of a door downstairs. She whipped her phone out; twelve-twenty. _Too early_.

Two men in black suits skulked into the room, taking in all of the records that were hung around the place and equipment that lined the walls.

"Mr Henson and Mr Henson, I believe." Kai lifted his weight from the chair and extended a hand to the two perfectly attired men. The two men smiled at the man and extended their hands. Elsa took the two men in: one was very much like Hans; auburn hair and dark brown eyes, whilst the other sported jet black hair and green eyes; he spoke first.

"James Henson, artist liaison manager for _Southern Island_ records," he shook Kai's hand firmly as the other began.

"Henry Henson, public relations manager for _Southern Island _records," he too shook Kai's hand but followed up before Kai could respond.

"The band will be here soon," the two smirked knowingly; perfectly aware of how ironically incompetent musicians were with timing. "Will the studio be ready for use immediately?"

"Yes sirs," Kai replied. Though he had the capacity to be brutally frank that it was 'his studio' and that 'it'll be ready when it's damned ready', these were the guys who had _asked_ to use his studio and were keeping food on his table. Elsa took her eyes off the situation and continued making sure that the studio was appropriate for execs to visit; clearing used bottles out of the trash can was her main focus at the moment. She took the bag of bottles out of the space and slipped into the control room.

"Hey," a deep voice called from behind her.

She turned around to look at who had called her. It was James, the dark haired brother.

He smiled at the girl. "_Arendhelle, _right?"

Elsa looked a little surprised that he knew her, and felt even more surprised that he knew the name of the band. _Are we on hit-list?_ she wondered, both nervous and enthralled.

"Yeah that's right," Elsa said, attempting to win back some of the control in the situation.

"I was at your gig last night," he replied, laughing a little when Elsa's jaw dropped. "You guys know how to put on a good show, I'd almost say that you guys should be headlining and not my kid brothers."

It was Elsa's turn to laugh, even if in that moment she felt slightly bad for Hans that she was laughing at his band.

"Well I'm glad you guys enjoyed it," feeling a little smile crossing her face at the thought of these well groomed businessmen moshing at her concert. _Her concert?_

"Well if you want I'm looking to book a headline gig sometime soon," _got the 'looking to' in there_. "Maybe you could come and see us play more than thirty minutes?"

"You're looking to book somewhere?" Henry popped up, from behind his brother in a comical fashion. "I can help with that," he said as he leapt up and stretched a hand out to Elsa. "Henry Henson, PR for _Southern Island _records."

Elsa took the outstretched hand and shook it. "Pleasure to meet you," she smiled.

_Time to play the game_

However the conversation was interrupted by voices from below. _Hammerhail _were here. The gaze of both the businessmen shifted as they stood to their feet, renewed steel in their posture as their clients entered the room, lugging various pieces of music related equipment.

Kai shot a look up at the two execs, "Mr Henson and Mr Henson we're ready to begin."

The session proceeded as planned. Elsa did some harmonies over the melody and added texture where the male-dominated band lacked it. The music wasn't bad by any stretch; it sustained enough interesting ideas to make it listenable and even enjoyable.

Elsa sat at the back of the studio and just listened to what Kai was saying, "Can you make that harmony a little more pronounced?" The rest of the band nodded in faux authority and agreement, "We need a little more in the higher mids as we want as little headroom at this point as possible." More nodding from the band as they looked to Elsa who did her solo take for the track in true professional style; nailing the first take.

"Good job Elsa," Kai responded whilst tweaking a number of sliders to slide her into the mix. "We're calling it a day here," he concluded.

Elsa looked down at her phone; _seven o'clock_. She had spent _ages _in the studio and it still felt like nothing. _Regardless; time to go home._ She smiled at each of the band members as they left, escorted by the Henson brothers who left Elsa with their respective cards and phone numbers. Once the door had finally clicked shut, she turned to Kai who presented her with a CD.

"You lose this and you'll never work again," he smirked at her.

"Understood," Elsa replied. She knew better than to betray Kai's trust and she wouldn't have asked for the rough mixes in the past, but she wanted to produce; create sounds that were unique. The best way to learn is to tear apart someone else's.

"In all seriousness Elsa," Kai began. "You were _so_ good today, you're a real asset to this studio," he paused. "A real asset to me too," grimacing as the words left his lips. Kai was not usually a man of sentimentality; unless it came to his work.

"Thanks Kai." The blonde was very touched by his honesty but something was pressing on her mind.

"Kai?" she started, before she was cut off by.

"Yes you can, lock up before you go and don't steal anything," he replied. Completely aware of where the conversation was going.

Elsa smiled, gave the man an appreciative nod, picked up her guitar and headed into the studio.

An hour and forty minutes later, Elsa emerged from the studio clasping four freshly written CD's that she slid into her pocket. '_There's the Arendhelle EP'_ she mused; yes they were demos and there would have to be 'proper' studio time but there was something so wonderfully D.I.Y about the fact that these songs hadn't existed twenty-four hours ago and now she could have appropriately mixed demos for her, Sven and Kristoff to learn from. But she also carried another, one with a little bit of 'sharpie' artwork. _This one was for Anna._ She looked down at the CD and the scrawling on it: _Track listing: For the First time in Forever; 3.54, Out of the Question; 3.11, Do You Wanna Build a Romance?; 4.01, Ocean Eyes; 4.22,The Answer; 0.10._

At this moment in time, all Elsa cared about was getting this CD to Anna. She reached for her phone, opened up her messages and began typing.

'_Hey :-) Got a present for you, where can I give it to you? xx' _

Elsa pressed send and in true 'Anna' fashion, a response flew back.

'_Hey you! What did I say about Sunday? I'm busy right now but you can drop it at my place if you want? 1510 Lexington Avenue. xxx' _

With elation in her chest, Elsa started walking; careful not to let the CD cases slip from her pocket.

New York was still it's typical hustle and bustle, meaning that it took the best part of thirty minutes for Elsa to get to Lexington, and therefore take another thirty for her to get home. She looked up at the apartment building. _Which one_?

She slid in the front door and looked at the numerous names on the 'buzz-wall' looking for _Aren_. She eventually found _Aren_ hiding between _Yitzi _and _McCarthy_. She buzzed the button and awaited a response. _Nothing; Anna really was busy._ He mind called back to their first meeting, where she was lying comatose on a sofa after doing some heavy lifting. For a girl who supposedly lived on the twentieth floor she wasn't exactly the model of physical fitness. She buzzed one more time to check. _Nothing_. But then a click and a weary but distinctly male voice muttered, "Yup?"

"Oh hi," Elsa said. All the while her mind was racing._Boyfriend? God no!_

"Can I help you?" The man replied, curious as to who the mystery caller was.

"I'm here to drop something for Anna." She ventured, unsure as to how the man would react. What she didn't expect was a squeal of delight.

"Ooh!" the man yelped. "Come on up," he paused in the absence of a name.

"Elsa," she clarified.

"Well Elsa, welcome to _Casa de Olaf._"

**A/N: Well that sets up the next part quite nicely, we finally get to meet Olaf; hopefully I do him justice! I'm glad that people are still enjoying it. If you like it then put a ring on it...or review it; ****_that works too_****. **

**I've never written anything quite as long this and now we are at 10,000 words. As a thank you to all of you guys for sticking with it, I'd like to record a genuine ****_Arendhelle_**** cover of a song from Frozen with my band in the studio. If you want to leave a review with your suggestion or DM me; I'll choose the most popular one.**

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	10. Chapter 10: Casa-De-Olaf

The door buzzed and Elsa pressed her hand against the tattered wooden frame and began her journey up the stairs. Stopping occasionally to take a breath and press on; she didn't remember being so unfit. The post-gig takeaways were obviously getting to her; although she was under the impression that hauling equipment, jumping around and performing was quite enough exercise to keep her physically fit. _Obviously not_.

She finally reached the twentieth floor, gasping and heaving. She scanned the three doors for 'Aren': _Yitzi, McCarthy, Aren_; number 143a. Elsa raised her hand to the door and let it hang in front of the door. '_What if this guy is a creep?'_ she started thinking, '_If he doesn't actually know Anna.". _The hand continued to hover as she took a deep breath, '_One,_' she raised her hand, '_Two,'_ before 'Three' could escape her mouth the door burst open causing Elsa to recoil in spite of herself.

"Gee, I figured you didn't know how to knock!" the scrawny man exclaimed; completely oblivious to Elsa's shock. He was a short man, topped with a mangled mess of black hair that screamed 'geek'; or at least poor hygiene. This wasn't the most arresting aspect of his person though; his arms were far more built than the rest of his body, arms that now extended towards Elsa. His arms led his body forward and promptly crushed Elsa in the most forward and unexpectedly familiar hug that she'd ever experienced; causing a involuntary "oof" as all breath left her mouth. The man sensed this and set her down; brushing himself off.

"Sorry, lets do this properly," he began; finally aware of Elsa's completely confused and slightly concerned reaction. "I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs," he smiled sweetly at Elsa; removing all notion of malice from the situation and instantly putting the blonde faun-in-the-headlights to rest.

Elsa was just about to compose herself when a question demanded hher attention.

"Do you want to come in?" He asked, moving back inside before she had time to respond.

Elsa paused, "Yeah," she said; following the strange man inside and holding firmly to the CD in her pocket.

The flat was without a doubt or possibility of debate; a dump. Dirty dishes and takeaway boxes lined the sides of the kitchen and shoes of varying shapes and colours formed a messy heap in the hallway. '_Anna lives like this?' _Elsa wondered.

"Do you want something to drink?" a voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Yeah sure i'll-" she began, before being interrupted by the voice again

"Awesome! I hope you like hot chocolate." came the reply.

_Is this guy for real?_

She walked to the location of the voice and found the man busying himself with various pieces of kitchen equipment, all the while muttering to himself about the various ingredients.

"Chocolate…" he whispered, reaching through various cabinets and pulling various tins and containers out of the library of consumables. He eventually reached the one he was looking for and set it down on the counter; clearing a piece of leftover breakfast with his pinky before setting off for the fridge.

"So where's Anna," Elsa asked, trying to take her mind off of the mess that she now found herself in.

"Oh, she's at work." Came the curt and sharp response.

"Where does she work?" she asked, fiddling with the doorframe.

"_Southern Island _records."

Elsa's jaw dropped. "She works with _those_ guys?"

Olaf detected the sound of awe in her voice and turned his head from the fridge.

"Yep, she's been with them for the last month or so. Running errands for the execs and stuff," returning his gaze to the quest for the milk.

_Well that explains why she was such a bad roadie, probably got dragged along to make up staff. _

The man let out a small yelp as he finally discovered the milk; hiding behind some week-old takeaway. He continued on,

"Of course she used to work with me in moving stuff."

_Olaf's Van-power Services, huh? Maybe she is just genuinely a terrible roadie. _

"Olaf's Van-power Services right?" amazed at the fact that such a shitty name had made such an impression; then again it had been the last thing she remembered before Anna got a hold of her.

The man looked up in genuine surprise at Elsa.

"I saw you guys at the _Southern Eyes_ gig last night, I met Anna there."

What can only be described as joy exploded across his face as he abandoned the melting chocolate and ran straight to Elsa with his over-sized arms outstretched in preparation for an almighty embrace.

Elsa was ready and took a deep breath; _ready for the crush_.

Crush he did, even with Elsa's preparation it was still insufficient to prevent the wind being knocked out of her in that moment. Although she was winded, she found herself unable to be angry at the lovable character; he embodied the social freedom that so many people lacked. If _he _felt like hugging, he hugged. It was admirable but pretty painful for anyone else.

Once again he set her down, "Oh I knew Anna would've picked a good egg!" he said flippantly returning to the blend of milk and chocolate that was now steaming quite thoroughly in the saucepan.

Elsa was taken aback by this statement. _Had Anna told him? Or was he jumping to conclusions?_ Regardless, a steaming mug was thrown into her hand as Olaf made his way out of the room. Like clockwork, Elsa followed, keeping a firm eye on the man and on her drink; careful not spill it whether the impact of such an occurrence would be noticed or not.

He sat himself down on the sofa and stared at the window. A mixture of vacancy and contentment across his face. Elsa looked around the room: it _could_ be a lounge area, it was also a mess; a mess of DVD's, cases and clothes. There were two big arm chairs that were piled high with clothes and the sofa that Olaf now rested on. Without any alternative but the floor, she cautiously placed herself on the sofa.

"Oh you're still here?" Olaf said, turning to her in pleasant surprise. "I thought you were dropping off something?" There was no sarcasm in his voice, only a childlike curiosity and wonder.

Elsa smiled at the innocent man who was gazing wide-eyed at her in anticipation of a response.

"Well since you offered me hot chocolate, I thought I'd stay a little while."

The man positively lit up at this statement expressing his pleasure with a childish giggle that elicited a similar response from straightened herself up and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

_Fuck me that's good._

Olaf could see the girl loosen up knew that he'd done a good job. Elsa just enjoyed the moment; hot chocolate was a childhood favourite particularly when it was her mothers recipe.

"So how long have you known Anna?" she ventured; boldened by the sweet, sickly liquid that was conjuring all manner of emotion and memory in her head.

"Since she moved to New York, I gave her a job and we have been inseparable ever since." He replied matter-of-factly; he himself taking the opportunity for a sip of chocolate before continuing. "How long have you known Anna?"

Elsa hesitated before answering, "...twenty-four hours." she said, wincing as the reality of the situation left her mouth and entered her head.

_Twenty-four hours and you're already in this girl's apartment chatting with her best friend and drinking her hot chocolate. The fuck Elsa, the fuck?_

The sudden wave of anxiety and fear that she had felt upon their first meeting now covered her again.

She sipped more of the hot chocolate; hoping to calm herself with the liquid. All seemingly in vain as Olaf's gaze turned to her quaking hands.

"Are you okay Elsa?" he said, placing his chocolate on the edge of the sofa as began to reach for her hand.

_No_.

Elsa sprung up and began walking to the door. '_Still holding the chocolate fuckface' _her consciousness taunted her. She turned about and swept past Olaf on her way to the kitchen. _Just drop the CD and leave. _She placed the half-finished chocolate on the counter and placed the CD underneath the mug.

"Where are you going Elsa? Anna will be home soon." the man protested, approaching her gently from the doorway.

_Leave now._ Her head was screaming at her.

Elsa took heed of her head and cut past Olaf, staring down the corridor and awaiting the door handle in her grasp.

"Thanks for the chocolate Olaf, but I can't stay." She threw the comment backwards like a second thought. The cold metal of the handle melded into her grasp as she pulled the door open.

"I'm sorry," she said as she left; not quite sure if she was saying sorry to Olaf or to her heart that was demanding that she get back in there and open up for once.

She hurried down the steps before Olaf could follow her and convince her to come back. She stumbled out of the building and walked out into the street. '_Thirty minutes to home'_ she repeated. She started walking downtown as a redheaded girl scampered up the steps of the subway having just finished work in the upper East side and pressed a familiar button and heard a familiar voice let her in.

**A/N: OUCH! Elsa got issues. Will they ruin her chances at happiness? Who knows?**

**Hope you're all enjoying the story! **

**Much love**

**Harvington III. **


	11. Chapter 11: The Answer

Anna had been so excited to get the text from Elsa, she had a present waiting for her; from Elsa herself. She had made sure that she hurried back in time to hopefully catch her. As she moved past the McCarthy's she mused as to what the gift could be?

The flat was in its usual state but that didn't bother Anna; she had grown used to it and eventually attached to it. Clean-freaks made her feel uncomfortable as they seemed to organise _everything_, there was no spontaneity or freedom; just rule and order.

Olaf was unusually quiet. _Had Elsa been over? _She poked her head round the corner of the lounge. The man just sat quietly with a mug of hot chocolate in the lounge; quietly enjoying his spot.

"Olaf, did you make any for me?" the girl asked, causing the black haired man to twist his head round to locate the source of the question; eventually locking eyes with Anna's disembodied head that was poking out at a right angle from the doorway.

The man sniggered slightly at the floating head, "Oh hi Anna. Yeah I left you some in the kitchen." He smiled at the redhead and returned to his chocolate, seemingly serene and content not to force conversation where it wasn't needed. Anna returned the smile and waltzed into the kitchen; the prospect of glorious chocolate adding air to every step she took.

As she stepped into the kitchen she spotted her cup, already steaming with hot chocolate. She reached to pick the mug up but spotted that half of the cup was empty and it wasn't like Olaf to be stingy; she then spotted the lipstick marks on the rim. _Elsa's been. _He face suddenly fell. _Doesn't she like hot chocolate_? She lifted the mug and spotted what the cup had been resting on: it was a CD; with a crudely drawn tracklisting and artwork. _The Arendhelle EP_ it read. Anna squealed with delight as she saw the track-listing. _For the First time in Forever, Out of the Question, Do You Wanna Build a Romance?, Ocean Eyes and The 'd done this in twenty-four hours?_

With all the haste of a five-year-old with a new toy she raced to her bedroom and placed the CD in her laptop. The CD drive started spinning and an acoustic guitar filtered through speakers and filled the room, succeeded by Elsa's voice; clear as glass it cut through the mix as the first song began. The first track was a firey track with plenty of tension and soaring choruses that guaranteed it as a crowd favourite; at least in her mind. The rest didn't disappoint either: _Out of the Question _was astonishingly frank and simple, very little in the way of subtlety but that was Elsa for you; no beating around the bush. _Do You Wanna Build a Romance?_ was easily her favourite though; it was amazing that Elsa could take a simple question and birth all these lyrics out of such a bizarre question. _Ocean Eyes_ was a more chilled out acoustic track; but didn't lose its edge and provided a nice close to the CD.

Then there was a pause on the album. _The Answer_ followed.

"Anna."

Elsa's talking voice struck the girl square between the eyes. _The Answer? _The girl thought through their last meeting. They had coffee, they talked and the last thing she had said to her was "Do you want to build a romance?

_Do You Wanna Build a Romance? _

_The Answer?_

Elsa continued, the words barely registering with Anna's shellshocked mind.

She hit 'skip back' on the laptop.

"Anna," the track paused again. "Call me."

The redhead fell back onto her bed. _Was this a 'Yes' or a 'No'? _

_Fucknuggets_

Elsa was sitting on her bed; waiting. She had got home an hour ago and had gone straight to her bedroom to wait for the call. She knew that Anna had to be back home by now and she wouldn't be be leaving without at least a text coming through. The time was eleven-forty and she had been waiting since ten-thirty; still she waited for a response.

_One hour later_. _Nothing. _

Every conceivable scenario ran through Elsa's head, and none of them looked positive. The room was dark now but the city below kept moving, kept breathing and kept busy. The city had no time for romance, anyone who came to New York to leisurely fall in love was insane. Despite the romanticism that surrounded the Manhattan skyline and the beauty of Central Park: in the city that never sleeps you fell in love at a thousand kilometers per hour and you fell hard.

She was staring out the window of her tenth floor flat, a cup of coffee sustaining her focus for just a little longer. She could feel sleep calling her and the fact that her bed stood only a few feet away only added to the agonizing nature of the night.

_Stay up and hope that Anna calls, or go to bed and check the phone. _

_Anna: Sleep. Her: Me. Us: Me._

Her attention was suddenly broken by the intecom buzzing.

_Anna._

She rushed to reply to the buzzing, tripping over bags, amplifiers and cables as she made her way from her room to the door.

"Hi."

The word hung there in uncomfortable silence.

"Hey Elsa, are you busy?" replied a distinctly male voice.

Her heart sank as she identified the source of the voice. _Kristoff_. She didn't even have the heart to reply, she pressed the entrance buzzer and stepped back to her kitchen to make some coffee for Kristoff. He'd have just finished work and was probably driving home when _of course_ he'd drop by to say 'Hi' to Elsa. She just stood over by the kettle and waited for the water to boil, occasionally touching her hand to the sides of the steaming device to check that she could still feel.

_Anna's not coming. The last twenty-four hours were for nothing. _

The rhythmic knock confirmed that it was most definitely Kristoff behind the door. Elsa begrudgingly reached for the doorknob again and swung it open before turning back to the kitchen to complete the coffee-making process. Kristoff came bumbling through the door, casually yelling to Elsa who was in the neighbouring room.

"So today was real weird, I woke up with literally _no_ function in my right arm due to one of those hench motherfuckers at the bar."

_More mindless drivel. Great._

"Then work was literally; like literally dead. There was nothing happening-"

Elsa was getting pissed off at this moron who seemed to have come to vent at her.

_Fuck this guy._

Elsa turned from the coffee and glared at the guy who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Kristoff, shut the fuck up and drink some damned coffee or just fuck off!"

Elsa's outburst definitely succeeded in shutting him up. At least for a moment.

"What the fuck was that?" he responded, staring at the woman who was definitely not the Elsa he was used to seeing.

"I've been waiting on a phone call for two hours and she still hasn't called and I don't-"

"If you'd let me finish-"

"No Kristoff! This is why I don't open up! This is why I conceal it! This is why I write songs! It's the only thing that-

"Let me finish-" he replied, gradually getting more agitated with each interruption

"Don't you understand! This was supposed to be perfect, I thought that this was love Kristoff. For the first time, I thought it was love. Now she clearly doesn't want me."

"Fucking let me finish!" Kristoff bellowed. Elsa stood still, wrought from anger.

"-there was nothing happening at work-" Elsa opened her mouth but Kristoff raised a hand. "-until I get a phone call from our redheaded roadie. Who asks where you live."

_Fucking hell Anna._

"So I offered to pick her up when I finished work about an half-an-hour ago."

Kristoff stepped out of the way of entrance to the kitchen and behind him stood a redheaded woman who looked very timid in the face of everything that had just been said. From the kitchen she could see her lip quiver and the eyes tremble. Elsa's face fell and legs gave way, she slid down against the counter and put her head in her hands.

This wasn't how she'd expected it to go; it was supposed to be romantic, wonderful. Now she just felt ashamed and exposed, Anna had seen her abuse her best friend because of her emotions getting in the way. She closed her eyes in a futile fight to hold back the tears that were so hell-bent on breaking through. She felt a hand on her shoulder which she went to shake off, only to realise that it was Anna.

Anna was knelt next to her, trying to draw her eyes out of her hands and to stop the tears. Elsa looked into the eyes that were misting over; knowing that they'd caused her so much pain in the last few hours. Anna's lips started to move in a bit to fight off her thoughts.

"I should've called, I know I should have," her eyes filled. "But I just wanted to show you that I mean it," composing herself for another second, "I mean it when I say that you're the most precious thing," the tears started to flow; causing the freckles that dotted her face to warp and glint in the dim light of the kitchen.

Elsa saw the tears that lined Anna's cheeks and began to cry too. The two girls slumped to the floor; holding eachother and treasuring every second. Elsa could've spent the next thousand years just like this. Nothing mattered but Anna. She looked at the vision who was now sitting beside her with arms wrapped around her in a wonderful embrace.

"It's yes Anna," Elsa whispered, "It has been since I met you and as far as I'm concerned it will always be yes." Anna lifted her eyes towards the blonde; taking in the answer and everything that it meant.

"I'm glad Elsa, I'm really glad." Anna pressed her head into Elsa's chest and closed her eyes, allowing Elsa to rest her head on top of the sleeping girl. Sleep enveloped them both as Sunday finally swelled into view.

**A/N: Little needs to be said. **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	12. Chapter 12: Red, White and Queues

"Good morning," the blonde whispered to the redhead that remained resting on her.

There was no response.

"I need to get up now," Elsa said again; a little louder so that Anna could catch the sentiment.

There was no response.

Elsa stifled a laugh and began an elaborate procedure to avoid waking the sleeping girl, whilst being able to make breakfast. Anna was laid unceremoniously on the floor on the kitchen while Elsa went about creating a basic breakfast for her...

_What is Anna to her now? _The question plagued her conscious for the entire duration of her preparations and was halfway through frying some bacon when Anna woke.

She looked up from the floor; dazed and mumbling, "Bacon?" she questioned.

_Bacon wakes Anna up, I'll remember that. _

Elsa looked down at the beautiful mess that was laid out on the floor; aching slightly in the process. The absence of a mattress had caused some unwanted early-morning aches for both of the girls. She smiled at Anna, who was just coming round from her primary motivation; food, and onto her secondary motivation; Elsa.

"How are you feeling beautiful?" she asked, twisting herself over onto her back so that she was looking up at Elsa from the floor.

"Starved," Elsa responded; continuing to work on the crackling pieces of meat in the pan.

"I'm still here you know," Anna said playfully, eagerly awaiting Elsa's response.

Elsa jumped a little at how open Anna was and in appropriate fashion; fumbled the response.

"Well, erm," Her gaze rapidly shifting from the bacon to Anna and back to the bacon. "I'm-

She was interrupted by Anna laughing. "I'm just kidding, I could really kill some pork right now though!" She pulled herself off the floor stretching outwards; causing a pot of sugar to slide off the counter and onto the floor. She knelt back down to sweep up the remains whilst Elsa giggled.

She was giggling until she caught sight of Anna flashing her underwear at Elsa. She'd never taken in Anna from this angle before, which calls into question why on Earth she hadn't. She was magnificent in every way, the way her jeans hugged her-

_Stopping that train of thought right there. _Elsa commanded; her imagination retreating to the back of her mind.

The girl straightened up, "Where's your trash?"

"Over in the corner," Elsa replied. Turning the pan to the plate of steaming food that she'd prepared whilst Anna was asleep. In Elsa's opinion there was little better than a cooked breakfast in the morning. Her overall lack of culinary skills were compensated for in the respect that she could whip up a cracking full English breakfast.

Anna returned to the spread. "How long did this take you?" she gazed at the food open-mouthed; a little drool escaping.

"Probably about thirty minutes." Elsa responded, a little unsure as to the exact timings, but confident that it didn't take any longer than forty minutes: sausages and bacon; twenty minutes, eggs; five minutes, toast; two minutes, tomatoes; five minutes. She was satisfied with the spread.

Anna was passed a plate with a knife and fork before sitting down and helping herself. Elsa had never seen Anna put away food quite like that, it was deeply impressive and maybe a little bit gross. It was at this point that Elsa realised that she'd been watching Anna eat instead of eating herself. She immediately turned her attention to her meal and started consuming her meal.

_It never tastes as good when you've cooked it._

"So what are you doing today?" The voice floated across the table nonchalantly.

"Me?" Elsa paused her meal and gave it some thought. "I have a rehearsal with the guys after lunch," listing off the order of the day on her fingers. "We're probably gonna be working on full band arrangements of the _Arendhelle EP_."

"Awesome," Anna choked through a slice of bacon. "I really liked the EP by the way."

"Thanks, you inspired most of the tracks,"

"Most of the tracks?" The redhead raised a dubious eyebrow.

"Maybe all of the tracks," Elsa slid the words out before she took a sip of her coffee. Her face expressing the child-like 'Maybe?' that usually meant 'Yes I stole a cookie from the cookie jar.'

"What have you got on today?" Elsa asked, genuinely intrigued after what Olaf had told her yesterday about her work with _Southern Island_ records.

"Well," she responded; rolling her eyes and breaking away from her meal. "I have church this morning, then I'm going round the vicar's house for tea and biscuits, then I'm going to pray for the sick."

Elsa surprised by this revelation, _Anna a churchgoer? _She obviously wore her surprise a little too overtly as Anna burst into hysterics yet again.

"I'm fucking with you. Gee, I haven't been in church since I was in Maine," The girl's hysterical pitch gradually returning to normality at the mention of her origins.

"Today I'm at work from ten till six-thirty, then I'm possibly going on a date with an incredibly hot girl at around seven." She smiled devilishly at Elsa, "of course I'm still working on that last one."

The smile was once again suggesting things that Elsa would rather not think about over breakfast. Not that she didn't want _that_, it was only the fact that she'd never really-

"What do you say?" Anna said; casually interrupting her thoughts. She sat and looked at Elsa through those deep pools that she called eyes.

"I should be finished with the guys by then," Elsa replied. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," came the response. "You make the call."

The options started running through Elsa's head: cinema, bowling, restaurant. All a little too close to cliche and she didn't do cliche well. Then she had it.

"I'll pick you up at seven this evening."

"What are we doing?" the enthralled redhead replied; taking note of the knowing smile that was developing across Elsa's face.

"Wear casual," Elsa replied, "If you want to be at work for ten I think we'd better leave."

Anna looked up at the clock

"Fucknuggets!"

The two girls piled into a car and headed across town.

"Where do you work?" Elsa asked, pulling out of the secure garage and into the madness of morning traffic.

"I work for a company on forty-seventh. If you drop me near there I can find my own way there."

Elsa nodded and started on her way, concerned as to why she didn't just say '_Southern Island' _records and be clear with it.

The traffic was it's usual Manhattan self: slow, laborious and dull. If Elsa didn't have her music she would've most certainly gone insane. She had made it her mission to get in the habit of creating mixtapes and compilations for every situation.

"Would you mind having a look through the glovebox for 'Morning Commute'?" She asked Anna, who obeyed presently.

As the traffic ticked forward, Anna passed the mixtape. It had been decorated with various colours of sharpie to create budget artwork. Elsa slid the CD from Anna's hand and placed it into the CD player. The sound of The Gaslight Anthem's 'Mae' filled the car. Elsa sighed as the voice of the lead singer soothed the monotony of morning driving. Anna was quite enamoured with Elsa seeing her so vulnerable, she reached her hand over the gearshift and rested her hand on Elsa's. The blonde looked across to the woman on her right and smiled.

'_How did this happen?' _Elsa thought. '_What is this?'_

The question plagued her for the remainder of the journey, though she kept up the facade of someone in control quite well. She'd been doing it all her life.

Elsa had grown up a lonely child, not through choice but by family. She'd had two mothers and even in New York, there was still a lot of stigma towards gay people in the nineties. Other parents wouldn't let their children come round to play and the ones that did; didn't return after meeting her mothers. It's not that they were bad people, they just struggled to trust anyone. Before Elsa had been born they had kept their relationship secret from everyone including their families and friends. They had lived their whole lives in secret. When Elsa's biological mother became pregnant with Elsa, the whole affair was brought to the open. Family disowned them both and friends abandoned them. Their lives were turned completely upside down by the experience and they never trusted anyone properly again. When Elsa was born there were no grandparents to spoil her, no official aunties or uncles, no cousins. The closest thing to a relative that she had was her god-father Alistair. He used to take Elsa out with one of her mothers so that they wouldn't get hassled by passers-by. When Elsa entered elementary school, she found herself becoming more and more isolated as the her parentage became progressively more open and controversial amongst parents.

That was where everything fell apart.

She was in the third grade, and she was pulled out of school early one afternoon in July. It was unexpectedly stormy and foreboding and her god-father Alistair's car looked equally as intimidating. _Where were her mothers?_ She was taken back to Alistair's house and told to wait until Alistair and her mothers returned. She waited for Alistair's car to roll up and for the sound of multiple footsteps to grace the gravel on the path. Instead she got Alistair, who was having to sit her down and explain that her parents had died, from an mutual overdose of prescription pills. The parents that had given _everything_ to give Elsa a hope for the future: they had sacrificed their parents for her innocence, they had sacrificed their dignity for hers, they had given everything and everything was too much for them.

She moved in with Alistair in Long Island and moved school. In the first weeks of her new school Alistair was called in. The school noted that Elsa refused to talk, not so much to teachers but was an elective mute around other children. It was then that the mantra of 'Conceal don't feel, don't let it show' was born. No matter how much pain Elsa was feeling about the loss of her parents she would have to control it so she could have a chance at a normal childhood. So from elementary to high school she maintained a facade of normality that she wore eight hours a day from Monday to Friday. Outside of those eight hours she would go home and cry. Over time she gained friends; friends that were few but close to her and she did well at school and graduated with honours. All of it never seemed to satisfy the hurt that had been burning in her since the third grade.

The only thing that had come close to healing her heart was the heart of punk. It was the freedom that she craved: 'Fuck talent! Fuck requirement! Fuck the world!' it said. Every song was a cathartic rush of emotion that turned tears to anger and anger to tears. Now the second thing that had come close to healing her heart was sitting beside her in the car. _Anna_. She couldn't explain her, she couldn't control her but she adored her. Of course she couldn't _tell_ Anna that, it was far too soon to be throwing around words like 'adore' or God forbid; 'love'.

"Just here," Anna said; snapping Elsa out of her thoughts and causing her to brake a little more aggressively than she had originally intended. Anna leant forward in her seatbelt as the car came to a complete stop by the side of the road.

Elsa looked over at Anna; who was now fiddling with her bag in preparation to leave.

"Hey," she was speaking without thinking. _Dangerous territory Elsa_. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yes you will," Anna leaned across the car and kissed the blonde, who in response turned a charming shade of violet. The door opened and closed as Elsa just sat staring as the girl faded into the crowd.

**A/N: A little update on the ****_Arendhelle_**** cover; we have gone with 'Do You Want to Build a Snowman' and will be entering the studio over the next few weeks to rehearse and record. It should be ready by the time we hit 20,000 words. **

**Thanks for all the support and love, some really encouraging messages have really kept me going over the last few weeks. **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	13. Chapter 13: The Rehearsal

"No Sven, the bassline does not compliment the beat." Kristoff shot from behind the drumkit.

Sven in typical fashion shook his head and looked as though he was about to say something when Elsa swung through the door of the rehearsal room. Rehearsal room was a much more grandiose description than what it actually was. The 'room' was actually a garage; Kristoff's parent's garage at that. They'd been practising there ever since _Arendhelle _became a thing. His parents were major hippies and had been involved in every major Greenpeace protest that had occurred in the last forty years. They didn't have much of a problem with a punk band practising in their garage.

"Hey Elsa, we had a listen to those songs you sent through." Kristoff said.

"And?" Elsa ventured, awaiting his response with a certain degree of hesitancy. They had been rather personal songs.

"They're good," he replied. "We just can't settle on 'For the First Time'." He motioned towards Sven who was fiddling with his bass and avoiding eye contact with the two bandmates. _It's hardly his fault for being a jazz guy in a punk world_. She needed to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

"What does it sound like so far?"

The two started the song after a four count the drums kicked in. Sven began an incredibly intricate bassline, primarily featuring off-beats and unusual third phrases that created an uncomfortable tension in the music. Elsa liked them, but they needed moderating. She balled her hand into a fist and raised it; the universal sign for 'stop'. The two musicians stopped and looked to her.

"It's good," she said, watching as the two faces moved to make some protest but she raised her hand in order to silence the two. "Sven," she turned to the tall brown-haired individual, "it's good, you just need to tone down the tension in the choruses." She paused; seeking justification for her statement. "It needs to open up at that point and needs to be the big release." Sven nodded, he didn't need to say anything; he just rehearsed the new chorus on subtlely behind Elsa's conversation with Kristoff.

"The beat is good, it needs to open up in the chorus and tighten up in the verses." she ran through a list of inspirations in her head. "It almost needs a disco style beat to sync with Sven."

"Okay, Queen Elsa," Kristoff joked before returning to his seat. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all good," she set her guitar down. "Just had to drop a friend off."

"You have other friends?" he smirked, amused by this revelation.

Elsa had the right to be offended but she thought of something far better.

"A friend who works for a record label." She let the answer hang for a minute as Kristoff's jaw fell and Sven's playing fell out of time.

"What?" came the reply from the dumbfounded drummer.

"I have a friend who works with _Southern Islandrecords_." She said assertively. Now she held the upper hand in the conversation. The two musicians stared at her, processing what this meant.

"_Southern Island_?" Kristoff looked puzzled. "You mean 'margins over music' _Southern Island_?"

"Yes, but they're picking up local bands. They were in the studio with _Hammerhail_ the other day and I got to meet two of the execs." She fumbled around in her pocket and pulled out two pieces of card. "I got their numbers," she said, twirling the rectangular blocks in her fingers.

"Yeah," Kristoff continued. "What does your 'friend' do at _Southern Island_?"

Elsa immediately slackened, "She's a runner, but-"

Kristoff cut in, "She's a coffee maker, not exactly a crucial role."

"-but that's our in," Elsa corrected. "We slip her the _Arendhelle EP_ and she puts it on the desk of an exec. He picks it up and _bam_!" She slapped her hands together, "We have an album deal."

"You're nuts, we haven't even got the songs finished yet," Kristoff laughed.

"Then lets get these songs going," Elsa said, grabbing her guitar and plugging it into the amplifier. "_First Timein Forever_, lets go," she turned to Kristoff who started the four count.

It got to three in the afternoon before they had a break. They had spent a good half-hour debating _Ocean Eyes_ and whether or not it was punk enough if it was in three-four. Elsa was keen on the idea but Kristoff was arguing that the 'waltz-ish' vibe didn't make him want to mosh. 'It's not a moshing song' she had said, 'That doesn't matter!' he argued. It was at that point that they'd decided that to take ten minutes to breathe and talk normally for once.

"So how did you get in with _Southern Island_?" Kristoff asked over a cup of coffee.

"Well I met the execs in the studio," Elsa blew her brew and continued. "James and Henry Henson."

"What do they do?"

"James works with artists, he came to the _Southern Eyes _show the other day."

"You're kidding?"

"No, he said the _we _should have been headlining," her eyes glinted when she remembered the remark. "Oh, and the other guy; Henry, said if we wanted to book a headline gig he could help us out."

"What does he do?" Kristoff was quite overtly going through the potential that was in the relationship in his head.

"He works in PR, he makes gigs big."

"You know that if we work with these guys we're swimming with sharks right?"

Kristoff wasn't wrong. There had been a band who had lead the circuit when _Arendhelle _was starting up called _YuGo_. They had been internationally recognised as one of the best New York punk bands but they had never got much success with labels until _Southern Island _came along and snapped up _YuGo_ and took them through 'the system'. The product was a band that was a shadow of the former glory that was 'radio-friendly' and 'demographic appropriate'. They had 'success' with big album deals and a huge teenage following. The hardcore crowd quickly filtered out of their fandom and found a new band to latch onto. That band was the early _Southern Eyes_; direct associates of _Southern Islandrecords_. They quickly became the leading band on the circuit and repaired the credibility of _Southern Island_ amongst even the most die-hard punks.

However the case of _YuGo_ was exceptional in how _Southern Island_ treated the majority of its signings. Bands such as _Keep C4lm_, _Forty Two_, and _Tea Towel Turbulence_ were all put through the system but were not received positively. The label dropped them and their core fan-base did too, leaving the bands majorly 'in the lurch'. This was where the infamous 'Margins over music' label developed and was even the subject of _Tea Towel Turbulence_'s 'The Pen Is Mightier than the Whore'.

"They seem like genuine enough people." Elsa called back to their seemingly authentic interest in _Arendhelle_ and her.

Kristoff threw his hand up, nearly knocking coffee all over himself. "All I'm saying is be careful. I don't really trust big labels."

"You don't trust anything that has a Wikipedia page," Elsa shot back.

Kristoff laughed, "You know we have one now?"

Elsa smiled and turned back to the rehearsal space. They had gone through the entire EP with very few points of contention. All they needed to focus on now was saving up enough cash to get into the studio. Kai wouldn't be as open to writing off a whole day of studio time. It would probably cost a thousand dollars to get into the studio for a day; even with negotiated rates from Kai.

Unless she could get _Southern Island _to help. Unless she could get Anna to help.

Appropriately, her phone started buzzing; a text from Anna.

'Heyy Els. Sitting here at work and thinking about our date 2nite xx Maybe a little about you :-P'

Elsa started tapping out a response, trying not to give too much; but just enough.

'In two hours you won't have to imagine me ;-)'

The phone buzzed in her hands almost instantly.

'ELSSAAA!'

Elsa snorted obnoxiously and quickly busied herself with a guitar in a bid to hide her blush from Kristoff and Sven. The other two entered the room having drank their coffee and voiced their issues.

"One last run-through and before I talk to Kai about studio time," Elsa commanded. The other musicians obeyed; both having night-shifts to get to relatively soon and Elsa had a date to be present at. Which reminded her,

"Oh and Sven, I need a favour for seven o'clock tonight."

**A/N: It's date night! Get pumped because anything can happen in the next chapter.**

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	14. Chapter 14: The Date

**A/N: It's a big one guys. Enjoy! **

Elsa was dressed accordingly for the evening she had planned: jeans; check, cheap sneakers; double check, flattering t-shirt; check. Smart casual wasn't really on the menu tonight. Whilst trying on a series of shirts she had looked down at her exposed sleeves: her naturally cold exterior was represented by a formidable snowflake that wrapped around her right arm; lyrics from her favourite songs formed the stems of the ice-white flake. It had taken a long time for the piece to be completed but it looked awesome and the significance it held for her made it one of her personal favourites. The others being the oriental-styled Manhattan cityscape that she had on her back and her first tattoo which framed her shoulderblades. Each tattoo had a story: some were stories of romantic late-night drives with the radio, others were stories of despair where only the pain of the needle sufficed to make her forget.

She was dressed now and the time read six-thirty on her phone. She was dressed to go but her head wasn't. '_I haven't been on a date in four years,'_ she thought, '_That date wasn't even with a girl_.' It had been with a band geek at the end of her time in high school, she remembered when he asked; complete with sweaty palms and stutter. Elsa didn't know whether to take him seriously or not. Nobody had ever made an effort with her before, she was known as 'Winters' over Elsa due to her cold disposition. The guy seemed genuine enough and she'd just thought '_fuck it'_. That Saturday night he took her bowling, made small talk and didn't push anything; a good date. It gave Elsa hope that she could deal with a relationship. It was only when she arrived back at school on the Monday that she heard 'frigid bitch' and 'total square' circulating that her optimism was dashed. The guy didn't look at Elsa for the rest of their time together, he was too busy hanging with his 'new friends' who had apparently put him up to the date.

_Dickless fuck. _

Now she had Anna: Anna who she adored, Anna who cared; who had cared enough to find out where she lived in a city of hundreds of thousands. This wasn't going to be like high school: she was twenty-one and old enough to handle it, not eighteen and naive.

This was Anna.

_Who she was going to be late for if she didn't get a fucking move on. _

The thought shook the anxiety from Elsa's thought and replaced it with urgency. She bumbled out of the flat, started up the car, buried her memories and began her journey to Anna.

A journey that concluded at 1510 Lexington Avenue at six-fifty-nine. Upstairs on the twentieth floor a phone shook and was picked up by a scruffily dressed redhead.

'I'm waiting xx'

The text prompted a squeal from Anna who had eagerly been awaiting the text for the last hour. She had cycled through 'smart-casual', 'neo-casual', 'casual-casual' and 'casual' before arriving (with Olaf's help) on 'punk-casual'. This manifested as torn jeans, band shirt, old hoodie and converses. The hoodie had been Olaf's touch, to 'add extra warmth to hugs' he had claimed. After that she had debated whether or not to have dinner; eventually arriving on the conclusion that since she had eaten pre-dinner that she would be good to go. She then spent fifteen minutes working on various conversation starters to prevent her going 'full-Anna' on their first 'official' date. 'Full-Anna' never went down well as her last date had proved. She had 'Anna-ed' the entire evening and realised that she never learnt he date's last name. _Awkward_. Up until the text she had been drinking hot-chocolate in hopes of calming herself down. All that effort was undone the moment that she heard the phone buzz.

A few minutes later Elsa saw the redhead come half-walking; half-running out towards the car in her 'punk-casual'. As she sat down in the passenger side of the car the redhead reached across and placed a chaste kiss on Elsa's cheek.

"Hey," she remarked, "you didn't freak out this time."

"I guess I'm getting bored of you," Elsa replied; letting just enough 'sassy' into her voice to put Anna mind at ease.

"So where are we headed?" the passenger asked, looking around the car for clues to their destination. All she spotted was a rucksack on the back seat. Elsa spotted the glance and thrust a hand over her eyes.

"No peeking, it's going to be a surprise," she said, speedily shifting the car into traffic and making her way downtown.

"How was work?" she asked, trying to keep Anna's eyes from the backseat.

"Work was work, filed some papers, grabbed some coffee for my boss."

"Is that what you do all day?"

"Well there are certain perks to the job,"

"Like?" Elsa asked.

_Can I get the fact that she works at Southern Island out of her?_

"Well the hours are pretty good and the pay is pretty good too," Anna replied.

Elsa's eyes returned to the road and left the response be.

"Enough about me," she laughed. "How was band practice?"

Elsa raised her head to show that she was paying attention without taking her eyes off the road. "It was good, we got all the songs rehearsed with a full band and they're sounding pretty sweet at the moment."

"Cool," she said; sitting back in her seat before adding, "I was jamming your EP at work today,".

Elsa had intended to brake at the lights but at the mention of that she had braked a few meters early leaving a good two spaces ahead of her.

"In public?" she asked, slowly rolling forward into the space in front of her as a horn blared behind her.

"Is that an issue?" Anna said, whilst rubbing the back of her neck from the abrupt stop.

"No," Elsa rushed to answer causing Anna to look over quizzically. She took a deep breath and smiled, "I just didn't expect you to like it that much."

Anna laughed, "Are you kidding? These songs are far better than the shit I have to put up with every day." Anna immediately tensed up. She had let something slip.

Elsa let the comment slide and pretended not to notice. "It's gonna sound a lot better with some proper studio time behind it," the blonde added before turning the wheel.

They peeled off the main street and into an alley.

"This your idea of a romantic date?" Anna joked, though she wasn't really sure if Elsa had this whole 'romance' thing down.

"Nah, we're just parking here," the blonde replied; smiling as she grabbed the rucksack and hopped out of the car. Anna followed suit, clutching the hoodie around her as the shade of the parallel structures shielded the setting sun from warming the two girls.

"Where are we going?" Anna asked, following after Elsa who was checking the sidewalk and the alley for passers-by.

"Up," Elsa replied coolly; reaching up and pulling the fire-escape ladder from the closest building. She swung herself up onto the ladder and began climbing the fire escape.

Anna, followed suit; struggling a little with the ladder and stairs combination. Before she knew it they were some twenty floors up; Elsa's car looking like a miniature from their height. When Anna finally caught up, Elsa was panting away next to yet another ladder.

"Did you seriously bring me all this way for a cardio workout?" Anna gasped.

"One more ladder," Elsa winked before grasping the ladder.

"Fuuuuck," Anna moaned. It wasn't that she despised exercise, it was more the fact that she wasn't ready for it. She needed to be in the right mindset for it.

Anna grasped the rung of the ladder and began her ascent, Elsa's voice floating from the top.

"Come on up," the sound of relief in her voice evident.

_She probably likes exercise less than I place has a elevator for fuck's sake. _

As Anna's hand grasped the final rung and pulled herself up over the lip of the building a wonderful sight met her eyes.

It was a generic New York rooftop, except not. There were candles and fairy lights lining the rooftop, a wood burner that was gently smoking away, a set of chairs and a guitar on a stand. The sun was setting over Staten Island and the light reflected off of the water; bathing the scene in a orange glow that made Anna's hair even more red.

"You like it?" Elsa asked from the corner of Anna's vision; the light glinting off of her platinum blonde hair that was in its classic braid.

Anna didn't really know what to think. _Did Elsa even have a rehearsal? Or did she spend her evening getting this ready?_

"How did you do this?" she asked, gawping at the scene.

"Well I called in a favour and my friend lent me his roof for the day," the blonde replied, shyly turning in on herself in humility.

Anna was still gawping so Elsa decided to help her out a little.

"Hot chocolate?"

Anna stopped gawping and turned to the Elsa who was pointing at a saucepan that was hovering over the woodburner. The smell of chocolate became immediately apparent and entranced the redhead, causing her waft inexorably over to the sweet liquid that was warming in the pan.

"I only just put it in there but I have marshmallows in the meantime," Elsa reached into her rucksack and brought out a bag of fluffy white sweets and a few wooden skewers.

Anna's face lit up, eyes sparkling as she ran over to Elsa, embracing her in an distinctly Olaf-like crush before pressing her lips to Elsa's. She could feel Elsa loosen as her arms slid up Anna's back, pulling her in closer as the two shared the moment. For Elsa it signified the first time it hadn't felt like a rushed cathartic kiss borne out of a moment. It was something she didn't want to let go of, unlike the rucksack that was frustratingly digging into her side. She broke away to remove the piece but noticed the fierce bubbling from the saucepan.

She brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear and smiled at the beaming Anna.

"I think that chocolate is almost ready," she said; gathering her composure again.

"I think it is too, I just didn't want to interrupt," Anna replied as she turned to the fire.

The evening wore on the two didn't stop talking. They talked about music; Anna discovering Elsa's secret obsession with One Direction, much to the hilarity of the former. Then Anna's stint in musical theatre came to the fore with the revelation that her partner in drama school was the incredibly famous Idina Menzel; who subsequently put Anna off even trying to break into the musical theatre scene.

"So you sing?" Elsa asked. The two girls were sitting whilst sipping their hot chocolates and watching the sun set.

"Well," Anna looked away, "Not as well as my partner."

"Okay then," Elsa placed her hot chocolate on the floor and reached for the guitar that Sven had kindly let her borrow. "Let's hear it."

Anna shifted forward in her seat, "I'd rather not sing something," she twirled her hand searching for the word. "Theatre-y."

"So," she strummed a chord and cleared her throat. "Baby you light up my world like nobody else," she sang; half jokingly before Anna stopped her.

"No!" Anna stood up, nearly spilling chocolate over her hand. "We're having something we can both agree on."

"Have my phone," Elsa gestured to the black iPhone that was resting on the arm of the chair. "Choose a band."

Anna, reached for the phone and started swiping through the artists until Elsa saw her eyes light up with the gleam of someone who discovered that their crush drank the same coffee as they did.

"_The Horrible Crowes_," she said with a slight inflection. "Crush." Handing the phone back to Elsa.

Elsa ran the song through in her head: D major, basic one, five, six, four pattern throughout.

She started strumming the song, keeping time with her foot and watching Anna as she started gently swaying. Elsa started singing

"_Pour yourself a drink I'll sing you a song, _

_don't worry 'bout the money honey I got a tab a mile long," _

Anna jumped in on the second part.

"_Bathe me up in lights, call me when you drown _

_I can wait all night, I spent my whole life; a little less up in my downs," _

Both sang the refrain with eyes locked.

"_I know a secret everybody tells; who goes to heaven, who goes to hell_

_one thing I know, sure is true, I never kept a secret; I got a crush on you," _

The two sang their way through Elsa's phone collection until the sun was holding feebly onto the horizon and the fire and fairy lights bathed the roof in a wonderful glow of pale electric and the reddish hue of flame.

"What are you doing next Saturday?" Elsa was huddled round the fire with a marshmallow bathing in the heat.

"You're planning our next date already?" Anna said, her mouth slanting into a contented smile.

Elsa smiled at the redhead. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to come and do backing vocals on the EP?"

The unsure look that Anna had on her face said it all; '_Really_? _Me_?'

"I'm serious Anna, you can hold your own." Elsa turned the marshmallow as it began to slide off of the skewer. "I mean, you sang 'Take On Me' and hit that note at the end." kjl

The memory broke the uncertainty from Anna's face. "It's your voice Elsa, not mine."

Elsa knew it was true, there was no arguing with Anna on this one.

"It might not even happen," Elsa added. "We need the best part of a thousand dollars to get studio time."

"How much more do you need?" Anna ventured, wrapping her hoodie around her for extra warmth in light of the set sun.

"Well, Kristoff and Sven are working nights to get about four hundred dollars," Elsa began. "Then I'm taking on as much session work as possible, but it's hard with only one reference on the CV." She took a breath and continued, "If I got a weeks work I could easily make up the shortfall. _If_."

Anna sat quietly for a while, a look of very 'Annaish' concentration on her face. A mix of clarity and confusion; somewhere between relief and struggle.

"I might be able to help," she finally said. "Keep your phone on this week."

"What are you thinking?" Elsa asked, genuinely curious how a runner could influence her workflow.

"Don't worry," Anna said; lapsing back into a more comfortable stance and looking up.

"Would you look at that?" she said; pointing to the sky.

Elsa looked up at the canvas of stars, before reaching into her rucksack and pulling out two blankets. She laid them out side-by-side by the fire and sat herself on one, lying back and staring up.

"Join me Anna," it was more of a command than a question. She felt a person slip from her chair to the blanket and a hand slide across her abdomen. Elsa turned to face Anna who was using her hoodie as a pillow, and gazed into her eyes. All the stuff faded away. All the insecurity faded, all the anxiety faded.

"Thanks for tonight," Anna whispered to the blonde. "I had a really good time,"

The last thing that Elsa remembered before sleep wrapped her body was Anna's lips against hers and nobody but the stars sharing the moment with them.

**A/N: Well Christmas came early in NYC, we finally got there. HMS Elsanna is sailing.  
The fact that people are still following and favoriting this fic is making it a ****_joy_**** to write. The fact that this is my first fic gives me all kinds of aspirations for my successive ones. I would like to thank ALL of you for making my first experience of FF such a wonderful one! **

**Much love**

**Harvington III**


	15. Chapter 15: The Offer

**A/N: Just rehearsed the ****_Arendhelle _****cover of 'Do You Wanna Build a Snowman' It will be ready to go by the end of the week! **

"So how'd it go?" Kristoff's voice jumped from Elsa's phone. Her face couldn't stop the smile as the events of last night performed aerobatics around her head; special moments making fresh passes through her consciousness. Every memory she went to speak was immediately cut down by another memory that revealed another piece of Anna. From seeing her bumble out of the doors of 1510 Lexington, to the farewell back outside the same apartment block earlier that morning; stumbling back in as she waved to the blonde. One textual assurance of safety later and Elsa had started off to grab some lunch and recuperate her thoughts, then Kristoff had called about the studio.

"It was wonderful, Kristoff," biting back the ridiculous smile into a something that resembled a deep sea creature. "Can you thank Sven for letting me use his roof again?"

"I would if he wasn't conked out in the back."

Both of them were working a security job at 30 Rock. They were taking it in turns to get the maximum amount of shift time, 'Kristoff in; Sven out, Sven in; Kristoff out." They'd been living like this for the last twenty-four hours; their manager was impressed by their persistence but didn't have a problem as it saved him having to pay an extra four guards for the same job. For someone who hated 'the system' Kristoff sure knew how to play it.

"Shouldn't you be off your phone then?" Elsa asked.

"No, all you do is put your finger up to your ear and give some tourists 'the look' and suddenly you're the scariest security guard in the world."

Elsa stifled a laugh, "Don't work too hard then."

"It's more tiring than you think," he replied curtly. "You walk around; all day, look intimidating; all day."

"Sounds _dreadful_," Elsa huffed sarcastically.

"It's kinda like you trying _not _to over-analytical 'Ice Queen'."

"Well fuck you too blondie," Elsa huffed through the phone; refusing to let him hear the hurt in her voice. "Are we going to be able to afford studio time this Saturday?"

"Should be, between me and Sven we're putting six other guys out of a paycheck." He hung there for a second, "Jeez that makes me a bit of a dick."

"A bit?"

"We'll be at the six-hundred dollar mark by Saturday," he answered, ignoring her jab. "Have you got any work for this week?"

_Fuck, haven't talked to Kai. _

"Not at the moment, I need to talk to Kai before anything."

"I'll leave you to it, I think a British family just heard me say 'dick' in front of their darling princess and are looking around for my superiors."

"See you Wednesday at _Smalls_."

"_Smalls_ it is," Kristoff replied; referencing their mid-week ritual of searching for inspiration amongst the vinyl and cassettes of _Small Street Records_. A suitably 'underground' store for every discerning punk, hipster and nerd in Manhattan.

The phone clicked off and Elsa walked into Divino Deli. It was essentially a large room; the counter and kitchen at the back and a seating area in front. The decor was sparse: white walls accented with a rust pink, black and white photography of the New York and Modena punctuating the simple attire.

It was pretty much the best Italian food you could find this end of New York, aside from a few in Little Italy. Even Little Italy had it's fair share of commercialised Italian places that had all the authenticity of a Italian flag made in China: red, green and white lavished everywhere, Dean Martin crooning over the sound system and disgruntled chefs cooking cruel Americanised perversions of classic Italian dishes.

It wasn't the food she was thinking about though. She was replaying Kristoff's words in her head.

'Over-analytical 'Ice Queen'; _I don't know what I'm more offended by: Ice Queen or Over-analytical? _

"Hi there, what can I get you?" the jovial clerk asked, Elsa went into autopilot, still caught up on the comment.

_Okay, over-analytical I get; I mean I'm doing it right now. _She frowned, sliding through the deli and sidling into a seat situated in the corner of the room.

_But over-analytical is just 'reflective', that's not a bad thing right?_

A guy was coming over to her. _Fuck! What did I order? _She smiled weakly, trying to figure out a way of getting someone else's meal.

"Pesto pasta with romano ham," the waiter said in a way that would have been appropriate if he was unveiling the latest Picasso; unfortunately it was positively cringeworthy in the context of a basic Italian dish. Luckily it's something that she could at least eat.

She muttered "Thanks," and the waiter walked away content at another masterpiece presented. She looked down at the meal presented: not much in the way of creativity but much in the way of edibility. It was enough to take her mind off of the conversation with Kristoff but not enough to distract her from her phone that had started buzzing in her pocket. She stuffed a fork-full of pasta into her mouth and looked at her phone. _James Henson_. She swallowed and put on her best business voice.

"Elsa Winters," holding her breath in anticipation.

"Hi Elsa, it's James Henson; artist liaison for Southern Island records,"

"Hi Mr Henson, how can I help you?"

"Call me James please Elsa, though I'm here to talk business-"

_Oh fuck! I am nowhere near ready for this. _

"-I want to make you as comfortable as if you were talking to any other person."

"Okay James, how can I help?" She was trying desperately to keep her voice steady while the rest of her world began spinning.

"Well," the voice began. "A demo copy of your EP was placed under my door this morning-"

_Fucking NO Anna! _

"-and Mr Henson Senior was immensely impressed by your vocals."

_Fucking YES Anna! _

Elsa tried to keep her voice as calm as possible. "Really?" she said weakly veiling her surprise.

"Really, in fact he asked whether you were signed and I realised that I never asked."

Elsa had to keep her jaw from unattractively revealing the remains of her meal by covering her mouth. Eventually she left her mouth alone, "Not yet."

"Well, when the EP is done bring it along to Southern Island records and we'll see what we can do to change that."

_Focus Elsa, don't fuck this up! _

"Well we're still struggling to get enough money for the studio, I need session work for this week but I haven't had any opportunities yet." The question was poorly disguised as statement but hung there long enough to suggest that James understood the gist of Elsa's words.

"_Southern Island records_ at two o'clock, go to basement level, you're working with Emma Trower let reception know that James Henson sent you. Your producer will be Teddy Hausman."

Elsa definitely picked the wrong moment to fill her mouth with pasta and as the words registered with the cognitive centres of her brain her gut reaction was to take in a sharp intake of breath; which became a sharp intake of pesto. The choking made its way down the line to the ears of an impeccably dressed executive who wore a smile that would be the envy of any Hollywood wannabe. The now red-faced Elsa composed herself enough to respond, "I'll be there, see you at two o'clock."

"No worries Elsa, we'll talk details when you get here." The phone clicked and Elsa checked the time; ten minutes to one.

Looking up from her phone she saw the entire deli looking at her. To be fair to them she'd gawped, choked and turned beetroot red in the space of five minutes. Some of the patrons were eyeing their food with concern, others were happily returning to their food as they made eye contact with the blonde.

She was still reeling from the conversation.

_Time to live up to the 'over-analytical' label_. She thought, drawing a list of what had just happened.

_One; Anna did something to get the EP in hands of the CEO._

_Two; there's signing potential from this EP._

_Three; I have work with Southern Island; CV gold! _

_Four; I have an hour to go home, get changed, grab a guitar and get to Southern Island._

_Five: I'm not even hungry anymore. _

With those five thoughts cycling round her head she raised herself from her seat; leaving a half-eaten bowl of pasta and a small tip for her extravagant waiter. The smell of a well-fed city hit her as she stepped outside and ran to her car when a sixth thought hit her.

_Six; I fucking love Anna._

"Welcome to _Southern Island Records_," the receptionist said politely to the blonde that stood before her. "How can I help?"

Elsa was stood there in a classic white business shirt that was tucked into a set of black skinny jeans, completed with a set of black converses. She'd done her hair up in the traffic on the way to the offices, yes it wasn't the tidiest that she'd ever done but it worked well enough. She had her messenger bag over her shoulder, a hard-case in her left hand and a question to ask.

"Which way to the basement?" she asked, which prompted a bemused look from the receptionist.

"The basement is off-limits to visitors, do you have a reference for being here?"

Elsa rummaged through her wallet to find James Henson's card, the receptionist gazing over the top of the desk and awaiting identity. She had to put up with wannabes and fans trying to sneak their way in on a regular basis, she even had a button under the desk for security to remove possible intruders. One time, a girl had come in with a lock of hair in a handkerchief as a means of identity, claiming that it belonged to the CEO. The lie might have had legs if Henson Senior hadn't been bald since his early thirties. However this girl produced a card; 'James Henson - Artist Liaison - _Southern Island Records_'. The number was accurate, the email address was accurate and address followed the official record.

"You can call him if you like?" Elsa asked simply, a cold authority brushing away any indication of her being an impostor.

"Take a left and go behind the main elevator, there's a goods elevator that you can take down to the studio." The receptionist gesticulated to the corridor to her left. "I'll let Mr Henson know that you've arrived, can I take a name?"

"Elsa Winters, session musician."

"There we go, you're on system," the receptionist smiled and waved her on to the innards of the building.

Elsa began walking through the grand entrance, the centrepiece was an elevator that stood in a gleaming glass column as you walked through the glass double doors. It was distinctly modern, soulless and corporate. It was a far cry from everything that Elsa had experienced from her side of music: it was usually warm, dirty and organic; not clinical and manufactured. She suddenly remembered who she was getting into bed with: _Southern Island Records; _margins over music. Then there was that session with _Hammerhail_, where they'd picked up an unknown and gave them the chance. There was a discrepancy between the _Southern Island _she heard about and the _Southern Island_ that she knew. She stopped the controversy from plaguing her mind as she stepped into the goods elevator and pressed the button for the basement.

Whilst the elevator doors opened in the basement a set of doors opened in the main lobby. In stepped a large bald man who commanded the entire lobby even though he was engaged in deep conversation with a familiar jet black haired man, followed by a familiar redhead who was carrying two cups of coffee on a tray. The two senior men and the woman stepped into the cargo elevator to the basement studio where Ted Hausman was recording Emma Trower completely unaware that a familiar blonde was mere meters below her and introducing herself to the magnificent _Southern Island _studio.

**A/N: Things are about to get interesting aboard the HMS Elsanna. Did someone say 'Iceberg ahead'? **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	16. Chapter 16: The Southern Studio

Elsa's eyes were drinking in the room with a thirst that could only be that of someone who was used to tiny rehearsal spaces in parent's garages.

The basement studio was all wood and sleek black foam that deadened the acoustics in the space; resulting in a deafening silence that make her uncomfortable with the sound of her own breath. The main mixing console was in a recessed pit: the desk itself spanned at least four meters and was an almost science fiction depiction of analogue buttons, switches and sliders that simultaneously evoked wonder and reverence for the piece of hardware. Also in the pit was a black leather office chair from which a mess of graying hair appeared. Her eyes lifted from the grey head to the soundproof perspex window; it was less a window and more a wall. In which the band of Emma Trower were preparing to record. She was painfully aware of her gawping but

it was magnificent.

Her first footstep touched panelled wood and alerted the room to her presence and caused the office chair to wheel around; revealing a solemn looking man of about sixty-years old.

"Good day," he said curtly before turning his chair around. Elsa stood there slightly concerned that she had signed up for more than she'd bargained.

"Hi," she said weakly.

The chair did not move, but a question rose "You're not an exec are you?"

"No, I'm just a backing vocalist," she replied, hesitant to make herself more important than she actually was.

The chair span round and the man stood to his feet with arms wide open.

"A musician!" He exclaimed, a sudden softness emanating from him as he stepped out of the pit and walked towards Elsa.

"Elsa Winters," she thrust her hand out in front of her in the hopes that he'd get the gist.

"Teddy Hausman," his hands grasped Elsa's outstretched arm and shook firmly; causing Elsa only minor discomfort.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Hausman," she said, sliding her hand from his.

"Likewise Miss Winters," he turned back the recess in the floor. "If you could go inside, the rest of the band are setting up." He gesticulated to the left hand side of the room. "Your microphone is over there, do you have IEM's?" he asked, turning to the blonde as she headed to the foamed oak door. She shook her head, pausing at the door.

_The fuck are IEM's?_

The man scratched a few sentences on a piece of paper and held it out to the woman as she came over to take it.

"Skippy Robeson," he said as she took it. "Tell her that Teddy referred you." He turned back to the console, "best custom IEM's in Manhattan, take a pair of headphones with you instead."

Elsa grabbed a pair of Sennheiser headphones from the wall of the studio and stepped into the live room. Hausman smiled to himself, 'Elsa Winters: blonde, slim body type and lead singer of _Arendhelle_' he read the profile that had been sent to him about an hour and a half before. He continued, 'Her tonal range is low F to high Eb suiting her to alto and soprano harmony. She has many timbres to her voice ranging from 'aggressive' to 'smooth' making her very versatile inside of harmony but also as a solo voice. Also plays guitar and writes her own songs (see attached).' Hausman clicked the attachment labelled 'First Time in Forever' the sound of a cut-glass vocal came from the studio monitors as Hausman sat back assured that the glass was doing its job. He listened to the girl and was barely aware of the arrival of one of the most significant members of _Southern Island records_ was standing behind him.

Elsa was painfully aware of the stares of the other musicians as she crossed the room to her post. Her eyes were focussed on the microphone and the headphone input on the floor beside her. She slipped the output into the input and slid the headphones into position in front of her upwardly inclined hair, remaining focussed on the microphone in front of her.

She was startled by the sudden presence of a hand on her shoulder and turned to look into the deep brown eyes situated below a dark brown fringe.

"You're our BV then?" the fringe asked.

"That's me," Elsa said; trying to salvage her initial coldness. "You must be Emma Trower?"

"That's me," Emma replied. "Thanks for responding at such short notice, our usual BV has laryngitis and can barely speak let alone provide close harmony."

Both girls laughed weakly.

"How long have you been with _Southern Island_?" Elsa asked, curious as to whether they were a new pickup.

"Only a month or so, we were making waves in the Indie community and one of the guys here noticed us on a Pitchfork article,"

"Good review?"

"Shit," Emma laughed, she drew herself up and spoke with a haughty tone. "Emma Trower is your average, run-of-the-mill; 'Miss Indie'. Who is 'Missing-the' magic touch of creativity that other bands have to carve their way in an already saturated genre."

"No way?"

"Yeah," she let herself relax a little. "However the guys here saw something in us and gave us a shot at the big-leagues."

"How are they to work with?" Elsa asked, the worry of signing plaguing her conscious relentlessly.

She sighed, "They're demanding, after signing they expected an album or at least an EP in three months." Her face picked up and she took a deep breath, "That's what's got to happen if you want to stay afloat in this business, we're in their good books though; having an album ready to record meant that we spent a month of that window perfecting it." She looked over at the impervious darkened division that separated the control room from the live room. "Of course we didn't tell them that and so we're their hot product at the moment."

_Margins over music. _

A red light bathed the live room in an eerie glow before resetting to the standard white lights.

"That's our cue," Emma explained. "I gotta get my IEM's on, we'll chat in a minute." The brunette swiftly shuffled back to her position to the left of Elsa, beside the guitarist and bassist who were standing to attention; awaiting instruction from the control room. She slid a set of molded earphones into her ears.

_In-Ear-Monitors: IEM's_. Elsa's mind recalled vaguely Kai's recommendation on getting a set of IEM's to preserve her hearing. She fiddled with the paper in her pocket, _Skippy Robeson_ was going to get a visit this week.

"Okay guys, we're gonna run through the songs for today with _feeling_!" Teddy Hausman was wearing a much more tired voice than that he wore for Elsa. _Are there Execs watching?_

"Pre-production demos will be coming through right now," he paused. "I made a few edits to a few that are more in line with what I think you'll want from a polished track."

The band shifted in a vague indication of agreement.

"We have visitors today so lets put on our best show." A statement that caused Elsa to tense up. _Who was it?_

"By the way," he added. "Miss Winters is going to be providing BV's today and it's her first time."

The band looked round at Elsa who desperately tried to avoid eye contact and instead stared at the opaque glass; behind which any number of people were watching.

"So Elsa," Hausman continued. "You've never heard the songs before, but listen to the demos and try a few harmonies; you're isolated so you won't distract the rest of the guys."

The first song began, Elsa tried a few harmonies and settled on the most appropriate ones, then the band recorded live with Elsa's harmonies in play and that was cut to 'tape'. This process was repeated throughout the course of the four songs that they had intended to get completed that day and the fifth and six that they hadn't accounted for. Upon completing the fourth song Elsa heard Hausman in her headphones.

"You're doing a good job on your first rodeo kid," which caused Elsa to look nervously for jealous responses from the band. Hausman obviously noticed this.

"You're the only one hearing this Elsa, I patched a talkback to your headphones specifically," the sentimental intent was smothered in jargon but the gist was that 'girl did good'.

"While I'm here though," he continued. "That harmony on the chorus needs to be more subtle and I can only do so much from the control room. Remember with _feeling_!"

Though they had sped through the schedule, they had still eaten up a significant portion of time; six hours of it. It was at seven o'clock that Teddy opened up the 'talkback channel' again and announced to everybody that 'it's time to call it a day'.

Elsa slipped the headphones off and set them down on the stool that she'd requested after the completion of the second song. A sudden blast of noise followed by a sudden cold indicated that the air conditioning units had just been activated to alleviate the heat of six or so musicians in a room. Her ears had been subjected to the confines of what the rest of the band had informally called 'cans' and they rejoiced as the cool air danced past them.

As she made her way to leave, Emma caught her eye and walked swiftly over to her.

"Hey," she said; holding a small piece of cardboard in her left hand. "Here's my card, call me." Elsa stared a little, '_Is she implying something'_. The brown-haired girl caught the awkward aura that was emanating from Elsa's gaze. "If you want some more work that is, I'd appreciate it if you did some live BV's." Her eyes fell to the floor and detecting an ease in the atmosphere she retreated back to the rest of the band.

Elsa took the card in her hand and perused the details as she made her way to the door.

'Emma Trower, Singer-Songwriter' it read on the face of the card, flipping the card over it revealed her contact details that were framed in the _Southern Island _logo; a simple sketch of desert island with an arrow embedded point-first into the sand.

She was still looking when she entered the room.

"Elsa!"

Teddy Hausman stood from the pit and walked over the blonde who quickly shifted the card to her back pocket.

"I must say, you were superb."

"She was wasn't she?" a smug voice added from the back of the room; causing all the colour to drain from Hausman's face.

In the corner stood a woman in sleek business attire with flaming red hair. If Elsa found her attractive in casual; she found her astonishing in formal: the combination of white business shirt and green pencil skirt seemed to make her eyes shine all the brighter; much to the detriment of Elsa's composure. She was able to rein in her thoughts before they became fantasies.

"How long have you been there Miss Aren?" Hausman stammered, also trying to hold his composure.

"Long enough to see what you do between takes," she smirked, sliding out of the corner and towards Elsa. "Your penchant for One Direction is shared by at least one other person in the room." Elsa looked over at the music producer with a combination of surprise and mirth.

"I appreciate the production in the high-end recording studios," he replied; attempting to add a scent of authority to his voice but ultimately failing.

"Yet you sing every word with- how would you put it?" she paused for effect. "-_feeling_."

Elsa was watching the exchange in mild awe, _How has Anna not been fired yet? _Elsa didn't know the ins and outs of _Southern Island_ but she assumed that runners were not above producers; good ones at that.

"Well, how do you like my workplace?" Anna was twiddling her hands in front of her.

Elsa didn't really know how to respond following everything that had just been said.

"What do you do?" she finally asked.

"Well," she said whilst rolling her eyes. "I make coffee, I organise schedules and I put EP's under doors of executives." She said the last with a languid smile whilst her eyes returned to Elsa.

"Yeah, but what do you _do?_"

Anna sighed, "If you must know I am the PA of one James Henson."

"James Henson," It was Elsa's turn to stammer. "James Henson; Artist Liaison for _Southern Island Records_?"

"That's the guy," Anna's smile perked up.

"Who happened to be at my gig the other day?"

"Not quite," her smile became a knowing smirk.

"Not quite?" Elsa remarked, intrigued by the smirk.

"Not quite," Anna repeated before leaning in.

"If you want to know you're going to have to take me to dinner."

"Take you to dinner?" Elsa breathed. "What makes you think that I have the money to take you to dinner?"

Anna turned to the door.

"The fact that there's a hundred and fifty dollars ready to paid into your bank account courtesy of _Southern Island Records_," she shot over her shoulder.

The elevator closed on her, leaving Elsa and Hausman standing in stunned silence.

"Elsa," Hausman whispered. "You can pick your jaw up now and I'll see you tomorrow."

It took Elsa a moment to process the figure and the implications of what Anna was saying. _Anna Aren wasn't just a klutzy roadie, a low-level runner or even just a pretty face. She was a strategic mastermind __**and **__a Goddess. _

_Who the actual fuck is Anna Aren? _

**A/N: Another chapter down and we're one away from the formal release of ****_Arendhelle's _****'Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?' cover. **

**Keep an eye out for the A/N in the next update as it will feature a link to the song. In the meantime, love summer all ye Equatorial nations and love winter all ye polar nations. **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	17. Chapter 17: The Wars, Gigs and Gingers

Elsa's green and cream bedroom looked exactly like it did before she'd left on Sunday evening; a mess. However the mess didn't occupy her attention, she had something far more pressing displayed on her laptop. She continued to stare at her bank account completely content with the fact that for once she had money to spend. On her way home the receptionist had called her; giving her a call-time of ten o'clock for the next session with Emma Trower and another potential backing vocal opportunity on the Thursday. It was more than enough to get _Arendhelle _to the studio and get Anna out to dinner to find out who the hell she was dating. _Dating?Are we a thing now_?

_Are we a thing_? _What's a thing_? _What are the ruleswhen it comes to a 'thing'? _

Elsa furrowed her brow, slid off the bed and walked to the kitchen ready to settle for the evening; a little music courtesy of 8tracks and a cup of tea went a long way in the madness of Manhattan life. Her neighbours never seemed to have a problem with her music, though she wasn't even sure that she had neighbours. Elsa kept to herself and her hypothetical neighbours kept to themselves, she heard the occasional door slam but there was still no solid evidence to suggest that she didn't own this floor.

With a steaming cup of tea in hand she made her way to the living room come home-studio that was bathed in bittersweet orange from the setting sun. She had got really lucky with the apartment, her god-father Alistair knew a guy who knew a guy who hooked her up with decent rent in a city that was notoriously expensive. She'd had a little help from Alistair to get her started but she was pretty self-sufficient; at least on rent, her fridge said otherwise. She knew that her god-father would disapprove. Alistair was a chef in one of Manhattan's most chic and in-demand restaurants when she was growing up, which meant that he didn't get to see her much. So she filled her life with vacuous people who could talk to just about anyone to give her the illusion of normalcy. He realised too late that fourteen year-old Elsa was becoming a social junkie; desperate for something that he hadn't provided.

"I'm going to quit," he had said from across the kitchen as Elsa sat picking at her attempt at pasta bolognese; a meal that was promptly spat across the table at this revelation.

"Why?"

"I need to be here more." His voice was sincere but Elsa had noted the solemnity in his admission. Whether it was the guilt of not being there or the fact he would have to quit.

"Why do you need to be here?"

"I'm worried that I haven't spent enough time with you," his voice shaking at the admission.

"We still have Sundays together." She liked Alistair a lot, he cared and he worked hard so that there was food in the cupboards, hot water and a roof that was not at the mercy of the bank. He reminded her of her parents; constantly sacrificing for her. Not today though.

"Sunday's aren't enough Elsa, I want to take care of you properly; like your mothers would."

The blonde fell silent; much to Alistair's distress.

"Not that I could be like them," he added before letting the silence sink.

"You're not quitting,"

Her voice pierced the silence.

"You're not quitting because you're not my parents."

"Elsa," he fought through the awkwardness he felt only to be shut down again.

"You're not giving up your job for me," she pushed her plate away and started to leave.

"Elsa I care about you," he said as he started after her.

"I'm only trying to protect you." Tears were definitely forming in the corners of her eyes.

"You don't need to protect me," he said jokingly. "Who are you protecting me from?"

"Me," she shot back; her voice on the edge of breakup.

"Elsa stop," Alistair commanded; his voice firm in the face of the situation.

"No you stop!" She had finally broken. "It starts with the job; you lose your paycheck, then when we have to move; I get a new school but the same ghosts follow and all the while you're regretting giving it up until one night I come home to-" her voice choked, "-you on the couch."

He rushed in to hug the girl, only to be swatted away.

"You're too much like my parents Alistair," swiping the tears from her eyes. "They gave everything and look where that got them." Her resolve wavering she retreated to her bedroom where she slid a chair underneath the door handle. She'd never been that honest before, she loved Alistair too much to see him give up his dreams for her.

Alistair didn't quit, but he made every spare day the best it could be: bowling; with sundaes, soccer at a park or listening to his ancient record collection with pizza in hand. His collection was typical of your average eighties romantic: Joy Division, The Cure and bizarrely Donna Summers were his favourites. Elsa still remembered the first time she heard 'Pictures of You' and how she used to steal herself up to the attic to listen to it. Every time the words hit her like a ton of emotional bricks as the warbling tones of the vinyl filled the attic space.

'_I've been looking so long at these pictures of you,_

_That I almost believe that they're real._

_I've been living so long with my pictures of you,_

_That I almost believe that the pictures are_

_All I can feel.' _

Even without the music filling Elsa's apartment, it still brought a fullness to her eyes and a longing to her heart. She definitely was lyrics more than music. She could look past crappy production or mediocre musicianship if the lyrics were gold. She swiped her phone open and tapped the 8tracks app; browsing through the various mixtapes that had been uploaded. She settled on a singer/songwriter mix and 'The Civil Wars' warbled through her phone speakers before she slipped the phone into its dock and the studio monitors came to life. She sat back in her sofa and set her feet on the speaker cabinet that acted as a makeshift coffee table come foot rest. She sipped at her tea and let her head fall back into the cushions as the warm herbal water coated and soothed her voice. She'd gotten into the habit of drinking tea at the end of the day since _Arendhelle _had their 'best gig'.

Their 'best gig' was a basement gig. Not the kind of basement that most people have. This basement was to basements what a ballroom is to a dance studio. It was huge and they had been invited to support a band that was having their farewell gig, so the numbers were huge; just not for the support acts.

When _Arendhelle _had finished their first song for their audience of six Elsa had looked over at Kristoff. The felt like they'd be been screwed over with three quarters of the audience at the bar ordering drinks. Kristoff could see the frustration in her face; _this wasn't how it was supposed to happen_. So he said a simple thing to Elsa.

"Fuck it."

Those two words broke all the pretension in Elsa's head about the gig: if there were instruments; they would play, if there were people; they would perform, if they were punks; they would fuck shit up! The resolve returned to her face and Kristoff counted in the next song as Elsa turned to the microphone; guitar in hand and song in heart. The first chord rang out as Elsa bellowed the verse into the microphone, causing an immediate stir in the room. _Arendhelle _had come to life. They began as they meant to go on: Elsa strutting round the stage, using Kristoff's kick drum as platform to jump off of and generally making a mess of the stage. The reached their final song; a big anthemic number with massive choruses and lots of opportunities to go a little crazy. Which is precisely what they did. Kristoff attacked his drum kit with frightening ferocity and intensity whilst Elsa span round and round barely holding onto her guitar as the song came to its massive conclusion. The drums built, the guitars wailed and the bass shook the floor (though the bassist himself was far more relaxed). The song concluded but the swollen audience didn't; their screams and applause drowning out the wash of cymbals. Letting her guitar fall at her waist she dragged her speaker cabinet over to the front of stage causing the familiar whine of feedback as she climbed atop the speaker; raising her guitar above her head in victory as the blonde drummer smashed his cymbals with his sticks and milked the moment for all it was. There she was; standing ten feet above the audience atop a screaming speaker cabinet and totally free. Every insecurity was vanquished, every doubt was silenced and every regret had paled to insignificance in those precious forty minutes of freedom to 'fuck shit up'.

Unfortunately one of the things that she'd severely fucked up in those forty minutes was her voice. She couldn't sing properly for at least a week after the 'best gig'. Hence leading her to find out how to keep her voice in top condition before she fucked it up again. The night hadn't been a total loss, they'd gained a whole heap of fans from the night because of 'fuck it' attitude that they'd portrayed; even the headline act had said 'New York punk is in good hands'. That is 'It was in good hands so long as Elsa got her tea before and after a gig'.

She was drifting into a tea induced sleep when a sudden jolt of chromatic noise broke the relaxed acoustic vibe with a bright notification on the screen of her phone.

_Anna Aren: How about that date? ;) _

Elsa bore a mix of frustration and elation. It still bothered her that she had little idea of who Anna was; having only just found out that she was PA to one of the most important people in her career. Why couldn't she be like other people?

_Because if she was like other people then she wouldn't be Anna. _

Anna Aren was standing out in the twilight as her phone buzzed.

_Elsa Winters (Goddess of Arendhelle ;) ) : Lets go get dinner yeah? Pick you up in ten. _

Anna smirked as she saw the response.

Elsa knew that the reply would come in seconds; and so it did.

_Anna Aren: Already here ;) : I hate to interrupt the singer/songwriters but I'm hungry. _

Elsa's eyes widened, she jumped to the window and looked out; out onto the street where a girl stood ignoring the flow of people around her and staring up at the building.

_I think I love her. I have no idea who or what she is but I love her. _

* * *

**A/N: A shorter chapter this time, but only due to my ambitions for the following chapters. If you're still enjoying reading it, let me know: PM me, review the fiction or simply follow to let me know and to encourage the continuation of my work. **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


	18. Chapter 18: The Confrontation & Calzone

Divino Deli was enjoying its twilight hours when Elsa and Anna swept in: latte's and small dishes were available but little else as the business wound down for the evening. The ethos was that if you wanted late night pizza you could call up 'Dimaggio's'; which was Italian in name and little else. If you wanted the delicious Italian cuisine then you had to put up the Italian culture; nothing heavy after seven pm. They already sold lattes reluctantly in the mornings, it being a crime to fill up on the milky; dessert-like treat prior to midday in Italy and Francesco and Francesca had maintained that initially. However the concession had to be made after their coffee became a staple of mid-town Manhattan.

Anna and Elsa had no such respect for Italian culture and ordered mocha's topped with whipped cream; much the the quiet resignation of barista extraordinaire Francesca. 'Americans and their chocolate' she had thought whilst lacing the coffee with the relevant syrups and powders to fulfill the order.

"Two mocha's to drink in," the barista called to the two girls who were fervently giggling about the irreverence of their order. Taking their drinks the barista forced an "Enjoy," through gritted teeth.

"Thanks Francesca," the redhead responded; turning to the window seat that Elsa was already circling. The two had talked all the way from Elsa's apartment to Divino, but in the same way they talked about nothing. All that occupied their talk was the outlandish characters that walked past, a new art installation or a new boutique that they hadn't seen yet.

Elsa knew that this was going to get difficult and Anna likes to be distracted when things get serious; so a window seat was necessary. She could always pick up on an unusual passer-by or an obscene vanity plate.

She watched the woman sit opposite her and all her machinations and preparation went to a vapour that poured out in her breath as her heart rate accelerated mercilessly. The blue eyes stared down at the coffee which she raised to her mouth, all the while avoiding the gaze of the blonde; who was quite aware of her impenetrable gaze but unable to do anything about it.

"So," Anna managed to say past the liquid that was descending down her throat. "You got work tomorrow too?"

At the mention of work Elsa went to her professional 'default'. "Yeah, they just offered it out of the blue."

"Well," the flaming hair fell forward as her eyes descended to take another gulp of sweet liquid in a bid to hide the devious grin that was forming on her lips.

"Well?" Elsa frowned, curious as to what the girl meant by.

"Well, maybe not completely 'out of the blue'." the liquid glugged briefly as she spoke. Elsa struggled to fight off her endearing awkwardness as the implication of Anna's words became steadily clearer.

"You set this up?"

The question hung there uncomfortably.

"I gave you a helping hand."

"What makes you think that I needed help?" Elsa's voice grew irritable. "I met James at the '_Hammerhail_' recording, I would have gotten that connection anyway."

"James didn't have to be there you know," Anna's voice matched Elsa's in its intensity. "Only if someone re-scheduled him to be at the recording instead of phoning it in."

"You set me up!" She was attracting attention and quickly hushed herself.

"I set you up to win," Anna whispered, not relinquishing the intensity of her words. "Kristoff kinda told me that you worked at 'Two-Tens' as a BV so I checked the requirements of the _Hammerhail_ session and looky-here 'E.W _Backing Vocal_'." She paused to let Elsa take in the information. "Then it was a matter of schedule rearrangement, I just told him to go and he went."

Anna's face developed a hint of smugness, much to Elsa's horror. _This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. _Punks were meant to get far through hard work and grit, not nepotistic short-cuts.

"Did you tell him to watch us the night before as well?" Elsa's tone turned accusatory; much to Anna's frustration.

"No I didn't!" Her voice raising now. "He didn't go!"

The deli was now uncomfortably quiet, even the noise of the street outside seemed to quell in the face of these revelations.

"What do you mean he didn't go?" Elsa's face falling.

"He only knows about _Arendhelle _because his talent scout briefed him." Anna's eyes were now staring at the coffee like her life depended on it.

"You're not just his PA are you?" Elsa, sat back astounded at how she'd missed it: The reluctance to talk about work, Anna's fear of being used, how it had all happened so quickly.

"Anna Aren: punk, PA and talent scout for _Southern Island Records_."

_That's it, that's Anna._

"So what does that make me?" Elsa slumped sipping her coffee before continuing. "Elsa Winters: punk musician, impartially given a chance to go big and-" her voice faltered.

"-relying on her girlfriend to fix her life."

The sudden realisation hit Elsa like a blast of chilled air; clement but indicative of a storm brewing. Anna was another Alistair, another person who wanted to 'fix her'; to give her something that she 'lacked'. She couldn't let Anna continue on like this.

"I'm sorry Anna, you can't help me anymore." She said, raising herself from her seat to leave.

"What do you mean?" Anna grabbed the blonde's hand; halting her in her tracks. "I've done nothing but given you the opportunities."

"I'm going to hurt you,"

"You can't hurt me Elsa."

"I will, you saw it the other day with Kristoff," harkening back to the first time Anna had entered her apartment behind Kristoff. The first time Elsa had revealed the raw damage that had defined her for so long. She continued to pull away from Anna only to be pulled back towards her.

"I saw _you_ that day Elsa!" her voice commanding the attention of the increasingly uncomfortable room. "I saw you at your worst and I'm still here."

Elsa felt her grip loosen and took the opportunity to pull away, making a rush for the door and the cool night air of New York. She pushed through the door and embraced the noise that drowned out the redhead that was hot on her heels.

"Elsa!" she shouted; unabated by passers-by.

Elsa's gaze remained fixed forward, a skill honed from years of life in Manhattan.

"Elsa," she panted.

"STOP!" Anna bellowed.

Elsa stopped and looked round at the girl who was turning as red as her flaming hair. The rest of the pedestrian population ignored the altercation and continued with their 'Manhattan gazes' fixed. Elsa looked hard at the girl who was taking gentle steps towards her; akin to a faun approaching a curious child. The girl had tears developing in the corner of her eyes as they rested a few feet away.

"What are you so afraid of?" Anna sighed.

"I'm afraid of me Anna." The words were so much more painful to speak than to think. "My voice is pain and heart-break."

"That's not what I heard," the girl smiled weakly; letting a single tear pierce the watery veil. "I heard Elsa. Not the stuff. You."

Elsa was stuck. Anna had stumped her.

"It's what James heard and it's what Henson Senior heard."

"They didn't like you because I recommended you, they liked you for-" her eyes glinted.

"-You."

Elsa couldn't contain the fullness in her eyes and the tears started flowing in unabashed relent.

In the middle of New York City a blonde stood crying as all the hurt left her.

In the middle of New York City a redhead stepped forward and took the blonde in her arms.

In the heart of the 'City That Never Sleeps', the heart that never found rest; found rest in the arms of love.

* * *

They walked all the way to Lexington and Anna's apartment, Elsa sharing her story rather than spilling it for the first time in her life. Anna was wonderfully patient and restrained, though it was clear that her emotions were being thrown about a fair bit; particularly at Elsa's mothers suicide. Part of Elsa wanted to skim the details and give Anna the 'ideal' version of the story. But every time she went to tell Anna something other than the truth her eyes shone with a wonderful sincerity that pulled back the veil that Elsa had pulled across the truth.

She was so wonderfully disarming on a subject that had been the subject of her most explosive and violent songs; songs _too_ aggressive for _Arendhelle_. Not even her worst memories caused the tension in her veins that so often came with acidic nostalgia. Even when the inevitable silence came, it wasn't awkward; but something was still eating Elsa.

"So who is Anna Aren?" the question swung into Anna seemingly causing her to sway a little as she walked.

Eventually she mustered a response.

"Anna Aren, is a girl from Maine with a dream that was stepped on since she dared open her mouth about it,"

"What was the dream?"

Anna smirked. "_Was_?" She laughed as Elsa turned her focus to her feet.

"No, the dream is still alive and kicking despite the kicking it took back in my childhood."

She swung back towards the blonde, letting her hand slide into Elsa's.

"I was raised in Maine and since I was young I was a music nerd: I could tell you who sang BV on 'Gimmie Shelter' by The Rolling Stones," she shot a glance, "Merry Clayton by the way."

Elsa laughed as she continued. "I could also tell you who the best 'Stones' tribute acts were in the USA and their counterparts in the UK."

"Who are?" Elsa played with Anna's hand; a gentle squeeze or two.

"Easily 'The Rolling Clones'. Or it could be that I'm a sucker for puns."

"The Rolling Tones?" Elsa guessed.

"Already in existence," Anna sighed. "I guess it's pretty sad."

Elsa squeezed again prompting Anna to look back up into her crystalline irises. Elsa couldn't tell if her gaze was encouragement or not until she continued.

"My family thought that at least, and when I said I want to discover the next 'big thing' they laughed and said 'you'd have to be everywhere to do that'."

She gave a weak laugh, "Or go to a city with a higher concentration of creatives, bands and artists than average Joes."

"In case it isn't obvious I chose the latter and here I am." She relinquished Elsa's hand and threw her hands up in wild gesticulation towards the city skyline illuminated by great stoic skyscrapers. "Last time I spoke to my family they had no sympathy for me and demanded my return." She waved her hands again, nearly slapping a passer-by in the face; "Oops! I'm still here," she concluded.

"Now you're a PA and talent scout." Elsa dodged another pedestrian that tried to cut between the two.

"Primarily the PA," she corrected. "The talent scouting is something that I get paid a flat fee to do: it covers the cost of the ticket and occasionally transport." She smiled a knowing smile.

"Or you call in an old friend or flatmate to get you in as a roadie."

"So you didn't show up at our gig as a roadie?" Elsa hypothesised. "You asked Olaf if he wanted help, you stood by the side of stage and watched the show for free."

"Yep," Anna folded her arms smugly.

"It would be genius if it wasn't _our gig_ you were crashing on," Elsa gently punched the redhead's arm.

"Hey, it got you this far huh?" She replied; nursing her arm.

"True, I owe you for that."

"and the Henson introduction,"

"Yes,"

"and the Trower gig,"

"Okay, that too,"

"and-" she began before pale fingers covered her mouth.

"I'll make it up to you," the blonde made a vivacious expression that was her attempt at sexy.

Though it wasn't Elsa's forte, she thought she did a good job if only by judging by the way that Anna had now started to walk at double the pace they had been walking originally.

"Don't get wear yourself out yet," Elsa called after her. The redhead turned back for a brief second; her face expressing her awareness of '_yet_'.

"I'm getting warmed up," the girl yelled back before making a face that was the picture of 'we know something nobody else knows' and continuing on.

However by the time the two had reached 1510 Lexington Avenue a tiny part of them both regretted the relentless chase through Manhattan. By the time that they reached Anna's apartment on the twenty-first floor all of their appendages and organs regretted their frivolity.

"Gah!" Elsa was gripping the railing for support, "never again Anna!"

Anna took one look at Elsa and smiled, which became a laugh and carried forward into brief hysterics as her breathlessness caught up with her.

"What's so fucking funny?" Elsa breathed, trying to retain her composure.

"Look to your left," Anna forced through her giggles.

To Elsa's left were three doors. But Anna only had three people on her floor and Elsa was standing in front of Anna's door, which means…

"There's a fucking elevator!"

Anna roared with laughter again before swinging the door wide and stumbling into the apartment.

Elsa didn't know quite how to respond other than, "Fuck you Anna Aren!"

"I look forward to it!" The response echoed through the open door to Elsa's ears.

Whatever feelings of anger were once present had been immediately replaced by insatiable lust.

Elsa couldn't get inside quick enough.

"Anna?" She called out. Stumbling over the mound of shoes that cluttered the hallway.

"Gee, I'm _so sweaty_," the response was airy and cliche. "I guess I really need a shower."

Elsa followed the voice to a white door, which she gently pushed open. It revealed a small bathroom with green walls with a basic set of amenities: a toilet, a shower and a sink. Anna was leaning on the sink, wearing a mischievous smirk and focussed entirely on Elsa.

"Nice of you to join me," she drawled; determined not to give away the shaking hands.

She slid over towards the shower and turned the hot water tap before stepping in, nigh on fully clothed; with the exception of her shoes and coat.

"Huh," she feigned surprise. "It seems I have got my clothes wet, I think I need someone to help me out of them."

She was wearing white. _Fuck! _

As the water revealed more of Anna, Elsa felt all her inhibitions fall away in glorious surrender. Her humanity surpassed her hurt for once and she was going to embrace it at full fucking speed.

She couldn't lose her shoes and shirt quick enough, she was tearing off her pants as she hobbled towards to the shower where Anna was struggling in faux-futility to remove her clothes.

Soon she was in the water pressed up against Anna with so little separating their naked bodies. Elsa decided to help Anna with her shirt, it hit the floor with a sopping slap but Elsa didn't notice. She had Anna where she had imagined her from the moment she met the 'fucknuggeting' roadie on the night that changed everything. She took in Anna one last time before her mind shut off and her body went into rapturous abandon.

* * *

**A/N:Tee hee. Thanks for sticking with the story: the fact that nearly 8000(!) people have read it and more than a hundred return to it on a regular basis is overwhelming and encouraging. If I could have coffee and calzone with all of you; I WOULD! **

**In case you haven't noticed; I'm a big lover of Italian cuisine and culture. It is a wonderful paradox of passion and pretension; love so ridiculous yet it has the boundaries of culture to protect it. That is why I hold the Italians in such high esteem; they seem to have it NAILED. I also may or not make the best coffee in the South-West of England (feel free to hit me up you're visiting).**

The **_Arendhelle _****cover of 'Do You Want to Build a Snowman?' is delayed due to mastering and stuff; but will be with you all soon.**

**In the meantime, enjoy your Elsanna. **

**Much love  
Harvington III**


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